All the Way to Hell
by redseeker
Summary: Hellsing/DMC. Dante x Seras x Alucard. Seras is despatched to the US to investigate a new threat, and meets the world's premier demon hunter on the way.
1. Bullseye

There was something about the girl at the bar that he just couldn't put his finger on. He hadn't seen her there before, and he was a regular. He knew all the usual faces, and took note of the new ones - the drifters, the tourists, and, occasionally, the demons. They were usually easy to recognise, though perhaps he had an advantage there. What threw him about this girl, however, was that he was having trouble deciding whether she was a devil or not.

She looked human enough from the outside. She was dressed in a black miniskirt and black thigh-highs - which alone made it difficult for him to concentrate - with a dark red top, heavy black boots, and a black jacket which would be easy to conceal a gun under. Long legs, big tits, tiny waist, and long blonde hair that fell in soft, shaggy spikes over her round blue eyes - she was his type, but there was something... off about her. She didn't smell right. She sat with her legs crossed, poised on the spindly bar stool with a rare, easy grace - the kind of preternatural surety that he usually only saw in devils. Trish had it. Hell, even his brother had had it. But she didn't smell like a demon.

Getting up from his corner table, safely curtained in shadow as it was, he slung the strap of his guitar case over one shoulder and, hands in pockets, strolled to the bar. The place was nearly empty, and he moved through a thick soup of cigarette smoke. She was nursing what looked like a Bloody Mary.

He slid onto the stool next to her and leaned on the bar top. She cast him a sidelong look, then he saw her inhale, and still. Her eyes turned keen and she turned her head to face him. There was something familiar about her scent.

"Yes?" she said. "Can I do something for you?" Her voice was sweet, slightly high-pitched, with a clear English accent.

He gave an easy, lopsided smile. "Buy you a drink?"

"I already have one," she replied, nodding to her glass. It was still nearly full; it looked like she'd hardly touched it since she'd been there.

"Damn, that's just too bad. Down it and I'll buy you another one?"

She smiled and shook her head. "No, thanks. I'm fine." She was still keeping a wary eye on him, though her body language was relaxed.

There was a pause, then he said, "You're a long way from home."

"I could say the same thing to you," she said, then bit her lip, as though she had not meant to say it. He cocked his head to the side.

"What're you talking about? I live just down the street from here," he said, but he was smiling. So she could tell. She could smell he wasn't human, which, in turn, confirmed his suspicions of her. "I'd introduce myself," he said, "but I think you already know who I am."

She'd been looking down, seeming to study her drink, but now she looked up sharply and met his eyes. Hers were a darker blue than his, but now that he looked, he swore he could see veins of red in the irises.

He stood up, hitching the guitar case on his back. He thought he felt Alastor crackle within it, like an animal purring. He nodded toward the door.

After a moment's hesitation, she rose to her feet and followed him, silently, out of the bar.

In the narrow street outside, he leant against an empty dumpster and met her eyes again. She shifted, eventually leaning her weight on one foot and standing with her hands on her hips.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she got there first.

"So you're him, then," she said. "You're the demon."

He was right about the jacket. She whipped a pistol from a concealed holster and fired three shots, aiming for his heart, neck, and head. The first one hit, though just off-target; before the second connected he had jumped. He leapt upward, grinning, onto one of the narrow balconies of the half-ruined apartment block that overlooked the alley. She growled, raised her gun, and continued to fire. He saw that her eyes seemed to glint red as she snarled and attacked.

He fired off a few shots with Ebony before jumping again; he wanted to do this away from possible bystanders, and it was only a matter of moments before the sound of gunshots drew the drunks out of the bar. He went for the next balcony, then up to one on the next floor, rebounding off the rails and up again, aiming for the roof. He ran the last stretch, glorying in the rush of defying gravity as he dashed straight up the crumbling wall; she was already following, with an agility that neared if not matched his own.

"You know, that's not very polite," he called back to her, using a burst of red energy to spring off thin air and somersault over the lip of the building's roof and onto the flat roof itself. "The least you could do is introduce yourself before you start shooting me!" Then, to himself, he muttered, "Why do hot girls always try to kill me?"

The bullet in his chest was stinging more than it should; he'd survived a lot worse without so much as flinching, so why did that one lump of lead smart so much?

Unless it wasn't lead.

"Bitch!" he cried, half laughing, as he dodged out of the way just before she landed on the roof. Silver fucking bullets. Probably blessed too. "That's some old-school shit you're packing." He drew Ivory as well, and fired several times, plugging her chest and belly with lead. She retched up blood and stumbled, but he wasn't surprised when she didn't stop. Her body seemed to grow a black aura, and the bullet holes began to knit closed as she moved. "You got holy water in that jacket too?"

Her mouth pulled into a hungry, canine smile, and he knew then why she'd smelled familiar. Her black aura crackled and coiled, giving the impression of wings, and he could see now her mouth was filled with needle-like teeth. He hadn't fought a vampire in years.

* * *

Bullets flew in quick succession, whipping through the grey air in a deadly stream, a spray of lead. Seras gripped the trigger, hardly feeling the recoil; her face was set in a monstrous death-mask, ragged grin as cold as the dirt in her boots. 

Her target leapt sideways, rolled; the bullets hit. They ripped in like bayonets, holy metal searing hellish flesh. The man, the man-shaped-demon, growled, crouched, and laughed. _Laughed_.

"Not bad!" he called, glee in his voice. He sounded young, younger than he looked, as though he drew a warped kind of vitality from violence. He wasn't the only one she'd met who could do that. He wore a long red coat which flared as he moved, like a trailing ribbon of blood. He wielded two guns, one silver, one black. As he moved in a blur of red and white and spitting hot metal, she tried not to think of how he looked. Of who he looked like.

His eyes had begun to glow red.

"But I'm better."

She bared her teeth in frustration as he jumped upwards, soaring in an arc above her, laughing; she aimed her pistol up and fired, but he somehow avoided her fire and, now perpendicular to the ground and right above her, pointed his pistols and shot, corckscrewing down and spitting a twisting rain of bullets. Seras screamed and rolled out of his line of fire, just as he twisted in midair, somehow pulled a blade from the guitar case on his back - discarding the case in the same movement - and slashed downwards, bringing the sword's edge down hard on the concrete. The impact sent up sparks, and the blade flashed blue, sending out searing tongues of electric blue. She missed death by inches; the blow would have split her apart. The air was singed with gunfire, and the clean smell of lightning.

Seras snarled and raised her pistol again, sending a line of bullets straight into his skull before he straightened; his left eye exploded, the side of his jaw caved in. His remaining eye, burning scarlet as it was, turned on her. His half bloody, skeletal grin was hungry.

"I haven't had a fight like this in ages," he said, and sounded like someone else.

His flesh was repairing too; the holy silver didn't seem to be enough to turn him to ashes, like it would a vampire. She'd known he was a different kind of creature, but as the air around him burned blue she wondered, in that split-second, if she wasn't in over her head.

He drew himself up, guns holstered. He flicked his sword, then seemed to explode from the heart in white light, pure electicity. She felt the shadows form wings at her back, and her nails stretched into claws. He had changed - when the flare faded, his body appeared to be encased in grey-blue armour, though it looked organic, like an exoskeleton. Veins of blue light ran through it, extending even to the short, curled horns protruding from his head, and along the spines of the new, batlike wings which now extended from his shoulder blades. His sword and guns were nowhere visible.

She hadn't known the hackneyed image of the winged, horned demon had any truth in it.

He struck before she could move. Lunging forward with inhuman - _hellish _- speed, he slammed his clawed hand through her abdomen and sent a wave of searing blue-white fire through her. She jerked and gasped, and when he withdrew his arm from her gut she fell, spasming and bleeding, to the concrete. Her skin was charred, her eyes wide open. The scent of burning flesh was rank in her nostrils. As she curled and jerked at his feet, she was able to look up at him with bleeding eyes. He took a step back, and the same electric aura that had transformed him seemed then to pull in on itself, and once again she was looking not at a medieval devil but at a young man in red, with white hair and blue eyes. His sword was back in his hand, and it still rippled and hummed with electricity, as though its power was barely kept in check by the man holding it.

Her vision was painted red, and she curled in on herself, clutching the gaping hole in her gut.

"You're pretty different to the last vampire I fought," she heard him say through a white noise. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was him leaning down to her; a tall figure in red kneeling beside her as her life once again bled out into the dust.


	2. Café Fredi

(Note: it's actually called Restaurant Fredi in the anime, but that sounded a bit too Engrish to be credible. It's the little place where Cindy works as a waitress.)

* * *

Seras came to slowly, becoming first aware of the pain - a dulled sting in her whole body, focused in her abdomen. She still felt dizzy, and it was with a fizzy white fog still in her head that she gradually opened her eyes. Above her, a cracked ceiling came into focus, and a fan spun slowly. She watched its blades whirl, their lethargy matching her own. Then she began to remember. She remembered her mission, she remembered coming to America. She remembered the bar, and the man. No, not a man - a devil.

She started, inhaling needlessly and sharply, and snapping into a sitting position. The abrupt movement caused her to wince as nauseating pain shot out like roots from the centre of her stomach, and she began to cough. 

"You might wanna be careful." Skin turning colder than it already was, she turned her head to the right. The demon was sitting astride an old wooden chair, leaning his elbows on the back of it; one hand cradled his chin, while the other loosely gripped a large black gun. She clutched her middle, biting her lip self-consciously. Her eyes were on the gun. "You're pretty beat up, vampire or not." When she didn't say anything, he lifted the gun and pointed it at her, though the looseness of his grip suggested his heart wasn't really in it. "So," he said. "You wanna tell me why you're trying to kill me?"

Seras made an effort to sit straighter and, moving cautiously, shifted so that she could sit properly on the dingy old couch he had evidently lain her on. They were in some kind of office - a large, square room bordered with clutter, with a dusty boarded floor and two large windows either side of a set of double doors. She narrowed her eyes; early morning sunlight was streaming in through the windows, grimy as they were. The brightness stung her eyes, and she shielded them with one hand as she shifted position. Once her feet were again on the floor, she squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. The pain was nowhere near as bad as it had been, and the wound he'd made had nearly disappeared; that didn't stop her from hurting all over. 

"You should know," he went on, "I took the time to reload while you were knocked out." He gave the black gun a vague wave before steadying it again, and a small smirk curled his lips. "Got some of your holy silver bullets in here now. Thought that was just a legend, but I guess it's true after all. Figured if they hurt me, they'd do worse to you."

Seras set her jaw, and let out a long, slow breath. The air felt stale in her lungs, and the movement hurt. 

"You're a demon," she said, finally.

He gave a short bark of laughter. "No shit. And you're a vampire. You're trying to tell me you've got the moral high ground?" When she didn't reply, he went on, "You should probably start explaining." He shifted in his chair, which creaked, taking his chin out of his hand and leaning forward on the backrest. "I've got time."

Seras considered her options. Most of her gear was gone - presumably he'd hidden it somewhere, if he hadn't trashed it - and she was too far from her master to reach him telepathically. So, basically, she was alone, with no prospect of back-up. 

This was supposed to be a simple search and destroy.

"Okay," she said, after a long pause. She saw his face relax, and a hint of a triumphant smile showed itself on his deceptively human face. "I'll tell you. It's not as though I have a choice."

"You're right there."

"All right..." She took a deep breath. "My name is Seras Victoria. I'm an agent of a special ops organisation based in London, dedicated to the location and eradication of un-dead and supernatural threats." He snorted, about to interrupt, or laugh, but she continued, still as matter-of-fact and toneless as before: "We've been experiencing heightened supernatural activity back home, but that's nothing to what we've heard is going on on this side of the Atlantic. Since we have no contact with any official organisation in the U.S. who deal with this sort of thing, it was decided to send one operative to investigate, and act if necessary."

"And you found me how?"

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. "People talk. You're pretty famous. Or infamous. Besides, intel told us that the demonic activity was mostly centred in this area."

"Oh yeah?" He got to his feet and lazily kicked the chair away. It fell onto its side, and Seras tried hard not to flinch at the suddenness of his movements. He was still pointing the gun at her head. "There's a good reason for that. What your _intel_ forgot to tell you is that I'm practically a demon _magnet_. The bastards seek me out. Killing me would be a pretty big feather in the cap of any demonic son of a bitch who could manage it."

She looked up at him with round eyes. After a moment, he lowered his gun. She noticed that he was no longer wearing his coat, and his sword was missing. He relaxed his posture and shook his head. "You really don't know who I am, do you?"

"...Should I?"

He blinked, looking at her as though in complete incomprehension. Then, eventually, he said, "Okay look, lady. I'm gonna put this gun away, and I'm gonna _trust_ that you're not about to start a repeat performance of last night, okay?"

She nodded. He smiled flatly and did as he said, holstering the black weapon. She noticed its silver twin in a matching holster on his other side; she also noticed that he did not put the guns down, just away. He still had the advantage; not to mention the fact that her strength was naturally diminished during the daytime. She guessed he already knew this. 

"Okay." He folded his arms. Narrowing her eyes, she did the same. 

"So now you know who I am," she said. "Are you going to tell me just who _you_ are?"

He smirked, then paced over to a large wooden desk placed not far from her couch. It was strewn with various items - mostly papers, but Seras also saw several trinkets which were definitely occult in origin; he collapsed into the chair behind it and casually rested his booted feet on the desk's top. With one elbow on the chair's arm, he once again rested his chin in his hand and stared at her. Seras, taking umbridge at his casual manner, turned to face him and waited for him to speak. 

"Why don't we start with you telling me what you already know?"

Seras bit back a growl. She didn't have time for this. She rose abruptly to her feet, ignoring the surge of pain which the sudden movement produced. 

"This is a waste of time."

He raised an eyebrow. "Please yourself," he said. "You're free to go, you know. I just wondered, since we seem to have so much in common..."

"What?"

"You really should've paid more attention to those stories about me." A slow grin spread across his face. Seras wanted very badly to kick it clean off.

"Why? You're a demon. I was sent here to kill demons."

"Your organisation's really that black and white about it, huh?"

"Yes, actually."

"Funny, 'cause I couldn't help but notice you _don't have a pulse_. Vampires are just lesser forms of demons... kind of a crossbreed with humans, I guess. We're practically the same."

Seras opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a loud knocking on the office doors. His attention shifted to the door, and Seras turned. Both doors flew open, slamming against the walls, and, amidst a cloud of dust, in strode a little girl. 

"Dante! You still owe me for... Oh!" The girl clocked Seras mid-sentence, and her expression softened in surprise and embarrassment. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't know you had a customer."

* * *

"So let me get this straight," the woman said. She was sitting opposite Dante in the booth, her elbows resting on the Formica tabletop, her head tilted to one side. "You're half demon, half human?"

"That's right," Dante replied. "You sure you don't want some of this?" He waved his plastic spoon to indicate the impressive strawberry sundae he and Patty had been steadily demolishing for the past ten minutes. 

"Um... I'm sure," Seras replied. "I don't eat."

"You're missing out," Patty said with her mouth full. 

Ignoring his charge for the time being, Dante turned his attention back to the vampire. She clasped her hands loosely in front of her on the table.

"And you hunt demons for a living?" she continued.

"It's really that hard to get your head around? Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you in pretty much the same position? A vampire who hunts vampires?"

"Okay, okay." She lowered her eyes for a moment, bowing her head slightly so that her hair fell over her face. She was worrying her lower lip with teeth that he noticed were no longer quite as long and pointed. She made a more convincing human than he did, even if she was a bit pale. Very pale, actually; had she been this white before? There were dark shadows under her eyes, and he could see blue veins beneath her skin. "Well," she said. "I'm sorry, for... you know."

"It's okay," Patty said. Seras looked up, and the girl gave her a bright smile. "People are always trying to kill Dante. It's just a normal night for him." She took another spoonful of ice cream. "If you ask me, he should get a real job. That way he might actually be able to pay off some of his debts."

"I guess I made a wasted trip, then," Seras said, looking down again. 

Dante shrugged, happy to ignore Patty's mention of debt. "Well," he said, "thing_have_ been picking up lately. Maybe your people weren't totally wrong. You're still here on recon, right?"

"Um, sure."

"So... since you're here... you could stick around for a while?"

She shook her head, giving a small smile. She seemed like a different creature to the vampire he'd fought on the roof; that woman had been a spitting Fury, all rage and Hellfire. The girl sitting opposite him was meek, tired, almost shy. She seemed younger, too. He wondered if he'd maybe hurt her more than he'd meant to.

"I saw what you could do," she said. "I mean, God, I was on the recieving end of it. I'm pretty sure you have things covered here."

Dante looked sheepish, and Patty gave him a reproachful look. "You're okay, though, right?"

"Oh, yes, I'm fine. Just a bit shaky. I lost a lot of blood. I'll need to, uh... feed soon."

"Oh shit, yeah, of course!" Patty elbowed him hard in the ribs, and he hissed. "Sorry. I mean, yeah. Hey, c'mon." He stood up, and Patty slid out of the booth behind him. He extended one gloved hand to Seras, and she gave him a baffled look. As though trying to kill her when they first met meant he had no manners at all. 

"What? My stuff's back at the hotel, I'm sure I should just..." she tried, but he'd already taken her hand and was leading - or maybe it was closer to dragging - her out of the café. Patty huffed, grabbed some money from Dante's coat pocket, and left it on the table to cover their bill before catching up and latching onto the sleeve of his free arm.

Dante only found Seras' protests amusing. And kind of cute. "Relax," he said. "I offered to buy you a drink before, didn't I? After almost killing you, I figure it's the least I could do."


	3. Love Planet

Seras sat on the edge of the couch, chin resting on her hand. Dante had left her there a few minutes ago, after they'd walked back from the ice-cream parlour. Patty had said goodbye half way back, and had disappeared into the city. She'd promised to come by later. Seras' new demon friend had led her back to his place - taking a short-cut through the bar from last night and the empty strip-club next door - and deposited her on the dingy sofa, and instructed her to wait. Apparently he knew a guy who knew a guy, and he'd be right back. That had been ten minutes ago.

Wondering what to do with herself, she'd rummaged through her jacket (which Dante had kindly returned to her that morning) and found her mobile. The battery was getting low, but its jewel blue display still informed her that she had four missed calls and an answerphone message. All were from HQ. She'd stared at the phone's screen for several minutes, contemplating calling Sir Integral and giving the report she should have given the night before, but eventually she'd just flipped the thing closed and tossed it back into her jacket pocket, discarding the jacket on the floor. It had been so long since she'd been out of the mansion, and free of her commander's orders or her master's control. Strange as it was, she felt safe with the half-devil. She was going to enjoy her freedom for a bit. Make them wait.

Before he left, Dante had let her pull the office curtains over the smeared windows, shutting out the most glaring of the sun's rays. Once the room was darker, Seras felt more awake, and no longer found herself viewing the world through narrowed eyes. As a result, she felt more indisposed to inspecting the space which the demon inhabited.

She didn't have a lot of experience with demons; none of her lot did. She wondered for the first time if they were a regional problem; if the barrier between this world and theirs was weaker in certain areas than in others, and that was why the Organisation only made them its business as an afterthought. She supposed Iscariot would have a better idea of how to go about things.

She didn't know a lot about demons, then. Even so, Dante's office didn't really look, to her, like a devil's lair.

It was large and roughly square shaped, with a dusty wooden floor and peeling, cracked walls plastered over here and there with posters of half naked women. At intervals the walls were further adorned with various trophies from her host's hunts - strange curios, alien-looking skulls, and weapons. With a slight shudder, she recognised the blade he had wielded when they'd fought the previous night. As she looked at it, it caught the light and glinted blue. For an instant she thought she saw a heat shimmer rise from the metal of its blade, and she looked away. Above it was hung a longer sword, a carved skull decorating the guard. Above that were two curved blades, crossed; one was a rusty, brownish red, and the other a dark, metallic blue. The pommel of each, she realised with a shudder, was a head, round and shrunken, with closed eyes and downturned mouths.

She pulled her arms around herself and rose from the battered couch. Apart from the weapons, the room was sparsely furnished. A pool table which seemed out of place, a drum kit and sundry other bits of clutter under the stairs that led to Dante's private rooms, and a dented jukebox in the opposite corner. Old pizza boxes lay carelessly stacked and forgotten in corners. On a hatstand by Dante's desk hung a damp towel, and a battered red leather coat. She scuffed her way across the room to inspect it. It was not the coat she'd seen him wear. She wondered if he had a stock of them somewhere.

She turned back to the weapons. More swords, a set of three-way nunchucks, gauntlets, grieves, and a glass case for guns. She guessed that this was not his whole collection of firearms. Two spaces remained empty - the black and silver pistols he seemed to carry at all times. She turned; near the drum kit was another set of brackets, cradling not a sword, but what looked like a unique, angular guitar. She frowned and moved closer. It was a deep, sensuous purple, and as she drew nearer the air around it seemed to take on a faint violet aura, and then crackle softly.

"So you two've met then."

* * *

Standing in the doorway, a lidded cardboard box safely under his arm, Dante smiled as he saw the vampire girl yelp and jerk away from the guitar.

"I didn't touch anything," she said. Dante shook his head and moved into the room, setting the box down on the desk.

"Don't worry about it."

She approached him almost timidly, her hands behind her back and an amiable smile on her face. "It's... an impressive collection you have."

Dante gave a half shrug. He didn't give a lot of thought to most of the weapons arranged there anymore. He had his favourites that he used most often - Rebellion, Alastor, Ebony and Ivory - and the rest became part of the furniture.

"Most of them are just souvenirs." He nodded to the guitar. "I thought you might be interested in that one."

"Why's that?"

He gestured vaguely with one arm, indicating the selection of weaponry. "Most of these are 'devil arms' - weapons that hold the soul of a demon inside them."

Her eyes got all round again, like they did whenever she was surprised or shocked. She was remarkably easy to read.

"Did you seal them yourself?" she said. She sounded awed; it pained him to disappoint her.

"Some of them. Most of 'em sealed themselves, once they were too weak to keep their own bodies. See, there's kind of this demon tradition..." She inclined her head, face expectant.

He cleared his throat and continued. "Once you've been beaten in a fight, it's normal to surrender your soul to the guy who beat you."

"That's really... odd."

"I guess. Anyway." He turned and gestured to the array of weaponry. "Not all the swords are devil arms."

"Which ones are? How did you beat them? Were they very powerful demons?"

Dante laughed. She sounded like a kid, so eager, so interested. He guessed demons weren't regular opponents for her. Gratified to find himself a captive audience, he said, "Okay," and pointed out each weapon as he explained: "Those crossed swords? They hold the demons Agni and Rudra, twin guardians with the powers of wind and fire. They're eager to please, but... chatty. They're asleep right now." He fought not to laugh at her expression. He moved on. "Cerberus."

"The three headed dog?"

"The same. He was the first one I got. I was nineteen." He pointed next to the first set of gauntlets, and the grieves that matched them. "Those hold the demon Beowulf. Annoying bastard with a grudge... Wish I'd killed him myself." Ignoring Seras' questioning look, he moved on. "Ifrit and Alastor were already sealed when I got them."

"Is it weird knowing all your weapons have names, have souls?"

"Maybe, a little."

"...So what about this guitar?"

"Ah." He grinned. They moved back over to where Nevan rested. "I told you I hadn't fought a vampire in a while. This was the last one I met."

He watched the girl's eyes widen again, she stared at the weapon.

"This holds the soul of a vampire?"

Dante nodded. "Yup. Nevan... Apparently she and my father were on, ha, friendly terms."

"And this is a weapon...?" She raised her hand, and the air around the guitar flickered black. He thought he saw a thin arc of purple electricity jump from Nevan to Seras' fingers.

"Definitely the most fun weapon I have. You should try her out sometime." He folded his arms. When she didn't speak for a while, he said, "What're you thinking?"

She hesitated, and did not turn to face him. "If you beat this vampire and sealed her soul in a weapon... That means... so many things..." She turned around then. Her expression was hard to read, but there was a bright, hard glimmer in her eyes. "It means that vampires really are devils, which explains why we use blessed bullets and crucifixes, and why they work. But more important than that: it proves that demons - and vampires - do have souls after all."

He frowned at her. "Of course we have souls. You thought you didn't have one?"

"I... I don't know. My master..."

"Your _what_?"

She was turning away from him again, her head bowed, brow furrowed as she thought.

He had never questioned his existence all that much, except to reap the advantages of having demonic powers, and to be irritated by the legacy his father had pushed on him. He had never thought in the way that she seemed to. Maybe it was the scripture she seemed to have shoved down her neck every day; she hadn't told him all that much about her work, her "Organisation", but she'd said enough.

Religion wasn't a big deal for him, despite what he was. He may have been to Hell and back, but he had no proof that Heaven was real. He'd never met her Christian Devil, either, not in any of his numerous trips to the Underworld - as far back as he knew, the demon hierarchy ended at Mundus, and he was no fallen angel.

He wanted to say something, wanted to shake her out of her thoughts and make her laugh instead. He put one hand on her shoulder and turned her so they were face to face.

"Hey." She looked up at him, startled out of he reverie. She met his eyes, and they didn't move for a long moment. It felt like a thread hung taught between them. It snapped when Dante clumsily broke the silence. "You still hungry?"

Seras blinked, and Dante moved to the box. "I got some stuff for you. Blood." He took off the lid, reached inside, and drew out a clear plastic pack of blood. Inside the box were several more. He saw Seras' face brighten at the sight of it, and he tossed it to her. "I know a guy. Don't worry, no one died to 'donate' this. I got you some clothes too."

"What?"

"If you hadn't noticed, yours are a little worse for wear." She looked down at herself; her clothes were singed, burnt at the edges, and her stockings had holes in them. Her top had a large ragged hole over her stomach, though the wound beneath had healed.

She let out a low moan. "I can't believe I've been walking around in public like this."

He chuckled. "I dropped in on a friend. She's lent you some stuff; you'll meet her later." He upturned the box, and a small assortment of Lady's clothing fell onto the desk.

"Oh! Thank you..." Her face broke into a grin, and Dante smiled too. She may be a nocturnal creature, but it was like sunlight when she smiled. "You really didn't have to."

He shrugged again. He was about to speak, but was interrupted by the phone on the desk beginning to ring, loud and obnoxious. Sighing slightly, he picked up. As a familiar voice spoke to him through the earpiece, he watched Seras gratefully inspect Lady's cast-offs.

At the end of the call he hung up and faced Seras, smirking. She looked up, questioning.

"Everything okay?" she said.

"Uhuh. That was my old partner. You'd better drink up quick and get your strength back, 'cause we're going hunting."


	4. Asphodel

"Still no word from her?"

Integra pressed the call hang-up button and set the cordless down. Lips pressed thinly together, she shook her head. Walter set the tea tray down on the occasional table and began pouring milk into two cups from a small china jug.

"She was supposed to check in after twelve hours. She was briefed. She wouldn't disobey."

"Perhaps she simply forgot?" Walter said, setting the jug down and lifting the teapot. Integra narrowed her eyes at him.

"She wouldn't forget, Walter."

He didn't say anything more until he had finished pouring the tea and brought one of the cups over to the director's desk. He spilled a little in the saucer as he set it down, and apologised. Integra did not appear to notice. After a moment, she stood up.

"Alucard."

Before she had even finished uttering the third syllable he had begun to appear, stepping like a ghost from a wall turned to a pool of shadow.

Nodding a brief bow, Walter gathered the tea things and ducked out of the room; he could drink his cup later. Integra turned and picked a cigar from the open box on her desk, and began to light it.

"You're worried about her."

Now wreathed in acrid smoke, the women regarded her servant coolly.

"You're not?"

"Why would I be?"

Integra took a long drag on her cigar, leaning on the edge of her desk. She folded one arm across her middle and stood with the cigar raised.

"I thought you two were fairly close. She is your family, after all."

Alucard didn't meet her eyes, instead choosing to focus on some indeterminate point on the wall behind her.

"I would know if she were killed," he said. Smiling hollowly he tapped one finger to his temple and looked at her. "It'll do her good to have to fend for herself for a while."

Integra felt a twinge of irritation at his apparent apathy. "Just because she's still alive - relatively speaking - doesn't mean she's not in trouble. Are you sure you can't reach her?"

"You'd have a better chance with the telephone at this distance. Maybe if she were older, stronger. But she's weak. Our link is weak as a result; I can feel her, but she won't be able to hear me if I try to communicate."

"Well isn't that useful," Integra said. She sighed, pushed off the desk, and stubbed out the barely-burned cigar. "I'm going to try her mobile again. If she doesn't check in within twenty-four hours, we have to assume something's happened to her."

Alucard looked uninterested. As though he thought she shouldn't be bothering so much.

"Need I remind you," she said, "that we don't completely know what we're dealing with? These aren't ordinary ghouls or underpowered vampires. The things she's fighting could be ten or twenty times more powerful than the low-level demons we've been facing over here." There was a stress in her voice on the word "demons"; it was still an alien term to her. Something still too akin to myth.

"No," he said. "You don't need to remind me." Integra thought his tone bordered on the insubordinate, but she said nothing. "She's more than capable of taking care of herself."

Integra forced her shoulders to relax. It seemed that, despite his jibes and digs at Seras' supposed incompetence, he really did have some confidence in the girl.

After a moment, she rounded the desk again and sat back down.

"I'm going to try her mobile again."

* * *

They drove part of the way to meet this former partner on Dante's motorbike, which was an experience in itself. It was large and gleaming in chrome and red, and made a gutteral purring noise when Dante started it up. Sitting astride the thing, he looked at her expectantly.

"Wouldn't it be just as fast to run?" Seras said. She had never been on a motorbike.

"Maybe," Dante said. "But not nearly as fun. C'mon, hop on." Tentatively, she took her place behind him; the machine's deep thrum between her thighs was unsettling, but not altogether unpleasant. "You're gonna have to hold on," Dante instructed her, looking back over his shoulder. She awkwardly looped her arms round his waist, her hold loose. However, when he actually set the wheels spinning, and they set off in skidding, squealing urgency, spitting up dust, she gave a small yelp and instinctively tightened her hold, clutching fistfuls of Dante's clothing and pressing herself to his back. She held tighter whenever he recklessly took a corner, and she closed her eyes as they leaned.

She wasn't sure, but she could've sworn his driving got more dangerous as the journey continued.

Towards the edge of the city, they finally stopped and dismounted. A little dazed, Seras followed him into a derelict tower block, trying to ignore the self-satisfied little smirk on his face.

They ascended the tower's grungy central staircase as it spiralled round itself in broken loops. At the top of the stairs, a tilting door opened out onto a flat rooftop; the floor was dirty concrete, with a low concrete wall marking the edge.

There was a woman standing in the centre of the roof, waiting for them. A tall, imposing figure, slender and long of limb, she wore skintight black leather and three-inch heels. Her hair was long and blonde and poker straight, her lips bee-stung and pink, her eyes glassy pale. As Seras and Dante emerged from the stairwell, the black-clad woman met Dante's eyes and smiled. She moved forward to greet her old friend, and Seras noted something feline in her movements; she moved like a panther, sinuous, powerful, ready to spring. She and Dante clasped hands in a brief, personalised handshake, and then the woman turned to Seras.

"You didn't say you'd be bringing a friend."

Seras coloured and hung back.

"Well, we're not really... I mean, um..." she tried, but Dante shut her up with a comradely clap on the back.

"This is Seras Victoria," he said, wrapping his arm around her slim shoulders and drawing her nearer. It was friendly, confidently so, but it still made Seras' blush deepen. "She's British." She saw the other woman's mouth quirk into a small, amused smirk. "Seras, this is Trish, my old partner."

"Uh, it's nice to meet you," Seras said.

Trish glanced between them, and then said, "Charmed. So you'll be joining our little party?" Seras nodded. "I hope you know what you're letting yourself in for."

"Don't worry," Dante answered for her. "She knows how to handle herself." When Trish raised one questioning brow, he said, "I'll tell you all about it later."

"Whatever." Trish checked her chunky black wristwatch. "Okay, it's nearly time." She moved toward the edge of the building, overlooking a large patch of flat, scrubby land, and facing away from the heart of the city. Dante slid his arm from Seras' shoulders, and the pair of them followed Trish.

"Time for what?" Seras said. She felt out of the loop, like a hanger on to this elite clique of two. She was the outsider, invited out of sympathy.

Trish turned to her and offered a knowing smile. "Just watch."

Seras obeyed, standing close to Dante. He had one hand on the grip of his sword - this time he had chosen the one with the skull decoration instead of Alastor, perhaps out of consideration for Seras' feelings. Seras scanned the area ahead of and below them, eyes narrowed against the sun. She knew she wouldn't be as much use in a fight in the daylight, but she had her own gun, and Dante had lent her a rifle. She pulled her borrowed jacket closer around her against the wind, though she didn't really feel the cold.

Nothing was happening. Her companions were still and taut - prepared for something. But for what? She looked again, this time exhaling slowly and, carefully, opening that "third eye" her master was forever talking about.

There was something... There was a haze of energy gathering in the centre of the field - foul and purple-black, and condensing. Something split, and she felt something push...

"Right on schedule," she heard Trish murmur, and Seras watched, fascinated, as the sky above the dry, dead grass seemed to rend open, and through it stepped a creature.

It looked like a larger version of the critters she had been dispatching for weeks back in England - larger, and much nastier. It gave a rasping, triumphant roar as it broke through, and from its mouth a vile black ooze dripped bloody onto the grass.

Dante and Trish leapt into action at the same time, leaving Seras slack-jawed. The demon had reached the ground, and her companions jumped from the roof. Trish had already drawn a pair of pistols, and was firing golden electricity at the brute as she seemed to glide downward. Dante went headlong, running down the tower's outer wall and gathering speed as he went; she knew he would be grinning.

"Shit," Seras hissed, and hastily swung her new rifle from her back. She jumped onto the wall at the roof's edge and looked down; Dante had reached the ground and had his sword drawn. The demon was bearing down on both of them, its maw open, rows of teeth sharklike and black. From the wound through which it had emerged now poured smaller creatures, like spawn of the original fiend. Seras wrinkled her nose, but disgust swiftly gave way to concern as she watched the horde rally and attack.

"In the name of God..." she murmured.

Dante's sword struck wet flesh. Seras leapt from the roof.

* * *

There didn't really need to be three of them. At least, that was what he thought at first. After the first twenty minutes or so, he was beginning to tire; not physically, not really, but the things just kept appearing, more and more of them. As bad as Phantom's thousands of repulsive offspring, only bigger. It seemed that for every one he cut down, six more appeared; if he wasn't careful, they were going to get away from him, and if they got into the city... well, they weren't going to get into the city. He wasn't going to let them.

Trish flashed by in a blur of black and gold, guns blazing, heels kicking demon heads to mush. The larger demon - it seemed to take each wound in its stride - suddenly raised a clawed limb and swatted, catching him full in the chest and sending him flying. He twisted in the air and devil triggered, using the Rebellion form's slim red wings to right himself and glide to the ground. Newly transformed body crackling with red licks of flame, he dashed forward to attack, but found his way blocked.

Seras. He found himself watching her for an instant - no black aura surrounded her; the daylight diffused the blood red shimmer, and her eyes remained blue. Her teeth were long, though, and she uttered a raw, Amazon cry as she leapt up onto the beast's shoulders and fired down. The thing rumbled and leaned as her bullets - lead this time, alas - bit into its skull and spine.

Still in his devil form, Dante made a noise that could have been a growl or a laugh. The red energy flared, and he struck. They made a good team.


	5. Lethe

Seras stood on the field of battle, head back, gulping huge aching lungfuls of searing air. She was covered in gore, and didn't see the curious expression on Dante's face until he was already by her side. Tearing her red-tinged eyes from the blank, white sky, she looked at him.

"I didn't know," he said, idly twirling his silver gun, "you breathed."

Seras laughed. Holstering her pistol and making sure her borrowed rifle was slung securely over her shoulder, she said, "Just an old habit."

There was a strangled scream from the other side of the grassy space, and the pair looked over to see the last of the smaller, weaker demons being crushed under Trish's boot. She ground her heel into the wretch's skull, and it spasmed and rasped for a moment, clawing ineffectually at the smooth leather of her boot, before going still. Trish then straightened, a look of mild distaste on her face, and sashayed toward where Dante and Seras stood. The larger demon, the fiend that had first appeared through the rift, lay gently smoking in the centre of the field; its body had blackened, and appeared to be slowly melting in on itself, swallowed by its own wounds. The rift itself had closed, and all that remained was an odd displacement of light in the area of sky where it had hung. Looking at it made Seras' eyes ache, so she watched Trish instead.

The taller blonde walked with an easy kind of strut, with not a hair out of place despite the blood that spattered her skin and sleek clothing. She did not look like she had even broken a sweat.

In a sudden moment of shame, Seras realised what a wreck she must look. Her borrowed (and as such, imperfectly fitting) black combats and white shirt were ripped here and there, torn by devils' claws and teeth. They had taken a few chunks out of her during the battle, and her own blood was mixed with theirs, caking her skin and clothes. Her hair was matted with viscous black and red fluids, some of which dripped over her face. She grimaced and wiped a glob of the stuff from her cheek.

"Not bad," Trish said. With a start, Seras realised she was talking to her.

She found herself blushing, and shifted uncomfortably under Trish's cool appraisal.

"I was just helping out," she said awkwardly.

"So what do you think?" Dante said. He was grinning at Trish like a small boy. She saw Trish arch a brow. Dante clapped one hand on Seras' shoulder, making her jump. "Can I keep her?"

Trish rolled her eyes. "She's not a pet." Then, turning to Seras, "You did well out there. I take it you haven't fought demons before."

"Not any as powerful or as big as this... as these."

Trish nodded, a very slight movement. "Well." She raised one hand, and golden flame-like electricity rippled over it. "I'll deal with the remains. You two may as well go and get cleaned up."

Dante nodded, and began to walk back toward the building behind which his bike was parked.

"Hey kid." Seras had been standing motionless, but Dante's call jerked her out of her reverie and she hurriedly jogged to catch up with him. "You coming or not?"

"Sorry, sorry. I'm coming." She fell in step beside him. "...Your coat's ruined," she said sadly, regarding the foul stains that marked his clothes as well as hers.

Dante looked down, then smiled and shook his head. "It'll wash out."

Dante's bike was right where they had left it. On the way to it, they passed another, a black and silver one which Seras assumed belonged to Trish. It too was a beautiful piece of machinery.

As Dante straddled the red bike, Seras looked down at herself and gingerly picked a blob of stringy, vile-smelling gunge from her top. She let it fall to the pavement, where it sizzled slightly.

"Demons," she said. "Are disgusting." Then she caught herself and looked up at Dante in horror. "Oh! Sorry! I mean, uh..."

"It's okay," Dante said. He looked amused rather than offended. "You're pretty much right. Now hop on."

Blushing again, Seras obeyed, taking care to sit a little further back this time so as not to transfer the filth from her top onto Dante's coat.

"Besides," Dante said, kickstarting the bike. It roared and trembled, and Seras instinctively gripped two handfuls of red fabric and slid forward. "I never had all that high an opinion of vampires."

* * *

The little crypt room was exactly how she'd left it. Alucard leaned against the door-frame, arms folded, a pensive expression on his face. She had left most of her weapons, since it was well nigh impossible to get anything of use on a plane these days. Her Harkonnen stood in one of the room's corners, leaning against the wall and gathering dust. The canopy of the odd four-poster coffin affair was closed tight, and already bore a thin film of dust as well. The place was eerily silent, save the distant clumping of people on the upper floors, and the sounds the spiders made as they wove webs in the corners.

It had been nearly two days since she'd gone, and still no word. Integra seemed worried, though he had assured her that her concern was quite needless.

All the same, it was getting... unsettling, this silence. Not only the literal silence, noticeable on the firing ranges, and - most notably - down here, in the subterranean bowels of the mansion which he and his fledgling made their home. But also, the silence in his own head. He supposed he had grown so used to having the kid around, to having her consciousness pressing against his own, and of being able to converse so easily and in such a direct way, that to have her suddenly out of reach, out of range, produced a pointed absence in his mind. He could still feel her, just vaguely, but too much of her was missing. She was still his creature; that was the problem, he reasoned. She existed as a subsidiary to him, and their minds were still too closely linked as a result of her continued dependence upon him. Had she drunk from him, and become the independent creature he hoped she would one day be, they wouldn't have this problem. They would exist separately, as opposed to the pseudo-symbiotic relationship of master vampire and underling. Essentially, they were, for the time being at least, two parts of the same organism. In truth, he was a little surprised that she seemed to be managing on her own. Managing just fine without him.

Well, he supposed, all children had to grow up sometime.

He sneered a little and straightened, turning and fading into the darkness as he walked away. Upstairs, Integra sat at her desk and listened to Seras' phone ring.

* * *

"There's a shower in the back. Should be some clean towels in the bathroom closet. Just let me go look."

Seras nodded, and leaned cautiously on the edge of Dante's desk. She was trying not to touch anything, if she could avoid it, until she got cleaned up. Dante disappeared through the door behind the desk, and she heard him rummaging around.

Just then, a familiar, jarring sound caught her attention - her phone, on vibrate, whirring persistently from beneath the bundle of Seras' own burnt clothes upon the couch. She started, and ran across the room to answer the call before the other person rang off. It must be Sir Integra, she thought; she realised in that moment that she never had checked in, and it had been hours now since she'd been supposed to. Why had she decided not to? She couldn't remember. It wasn't like her to disobey orders like that.

She fished the phone out from the mess of fabric, flipped it open, and thumbed the green answer-call button. In a gapless rush, she said, "Victoria, sir. Seras Victoria. I'm sorry, I-"

"Seras?"

"Sir Integra. Yes, I'm sorry, I-"

"Do you have any idea how long I've been trying to reach you?"

Seras' gut lurched; Interga sounded angry - and rightly so.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said quietly.

"So what's your status?"

"Sir?"

"You're not hurt?"

"N-no, I..." Seras glanced down at herself. Her wounds from the day's battle had healed up quickly, leaving only red welts and lines, visible under the slime and blood. "No sir, I'm fine. "

"I suppose that's the important thing. Is there any special reason why you were unable to report in earlier, as ordered?"

Seras bit her lip. "No sir. I just... um. I forgot." She knew how ridiculous it sounded, and she didn't think for one minute that Integra would actually buy it. She didn't feel right lying to her commander.

"...You forgot."

"Yes sir."

"Okay then." Seras could see Integra at her desk, pinching the bridge of her nose like she did when her patience was being tried. "What about the target?"

"The target?" Seras squeaked.

"You do remember why you were dispatched, don't you?"

"Heightened demonic activity, rumours of a powerful humanoid demon. Yes. Of course."

"And?"

Seras turned away from the back door, and studied the grain of the floorboards. "Our intel about the demonic activity was both right and wrong," she began. For some reason, she found that she didn't want to give away too much. "I was able to locate the demon, but... things are more complicated than we thought."

"How so?"

"His name is Dante. Dante Sparda. He says he's half demon, half human. And there's more... apparently his father was some kind of legendary demon knight who led a rebellion against the lord of the demon world... or something."

"...That sounds more like a fairytale than reality, Seras. You believed him? Look, you might be in real danger here-"

"No, wait. Sorry sir, but he's telling the truth. I know he is." There was silence on the other end of the line, and Seras continued, "There is a high intensity of demonic activity here, though. These things are like nothing I've seen before; much bigger, stronger, just..."

"You engaged them?"

"Yes, but not alone. For the time being I'm working with Dante. He has a lot more experience with these things than we do."

"...I'm not happy about this, Seras."

"I know, sir, but... I know what I'm doing. I'd like permission to stay a little longer, and learn more."

"...And you're sure you can trust this Sparda character?"

"Yes sir. I already do trust him."

After a pause, Integra said, "Very well, then. Just be smart about this. Send for back-up the instant it looks like you might need it."

"Of course."

"And Seras?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful."

"Yes sir. Goodbye sir."

As she flipped the phone shut, she became aware of eyes on her back. Turning, she saw Dante leaning against the door-frame, arms folded, a white towel draped over one shoulder. There was a sly little smirk on his face.

"So you trust me, huh?"

Seras coloured, and dropped the phone back on the couch. "Well... yeah. I mean, I've no reason not to, have I?"

Dante only shrugged in reply, then moved toward her and tossed her the towel. She caught it, and he pointed over his shoulder with one thumb. "Bathroom's free if you want to clean up."

"...Thanks." She passed him and went through the door, down a short corridor, to the bathroom. She closed the bathroom door behind her.

* * *

Dante took off his half-ruined coat and hung it on the hat-stand by the desk. She'd been talking to her superior, and about him, too. He wasn't sure why it made him uneasy. Was it that he'd clearly been the target of a presumably powerful organisation? That he still was a target? Nah, he thought. Whatever they threw at him, he could deal with; he'd defeated the King of Hell, after all.

He sprawled on the couch, forgetting for the time being that he was still encrusted with devils' blood.

Maybe what made him uneasy was watching a clearly powerful vampire scrape and apologise to whomever she called "sir". He didn't like the militant bent this organisation of hers had. As he heard water begin to run from the shower, he resolved to ask her more about the people she worked for, and exactly what her role was within that organisation.


	6. Styx

Her hair was still damp, and she rubbed it briskly with the towel as she sat cross legged on the floorboards. She'd gratefully accepted Dante's offer of borrowing an old shirt and pair of jeans of his - which were both too big, of course - since the garments from Lady were now festering in the corner of the bathroom, covered in demon gore.

"I'll pop back to the hotel later tonight," she said, looking up at him apologetically. She still had the towel partially covering her head, like a white hood. "Thanks for letting me clean up here for today, though."

"What?" Dante leaned back on the couch, arms on the back of it, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. "You mean you're not crashing here?" He had just assumed, following their new alliance, that she would become his guest for a little longer. Sending her back to the hotel seemed churlish somehow; even though they'd only known each other for a very short time, Dante formed attachments quickly, especially with those he fought alongside.

He was surprised to see Seras colour slightly (it seemed the smallest things embarrassed her) and look down. The towel slid to her shoulders.

"I wouldn't want to intrude," she said.

"You're kidding, right?" He smiled at the little shocked look she gave him. He gestured with one hand. "You're welcome here for as long as you want. You _did _say you trusted me, right?"

Seras nodded. Dante glanced outside. It was starting to get dark already; their fight with the devils must have taken longer than he'd thought.

"I guess it's about the time you'd be getting up, normally, huh?"

Seras followed his eyes to the window. The sky was an intense, dark turquoise; still twilight. "I suppose," she said.

He'd never been a morning person, but the idea of living in so backwards a way, being completely nocturnal, was a curious one. He wanted to ask her how she functioned, what it was like being the walking dead. She was... _different _to Nevan. She still had that carnal physicality that was, presumably, born of the vampire's predatory nature, but she appeared to be unaware of it; she still seemed awkward, somehow. Shy, and timid, despite her obvious power. He wondered if she was relatively new to the un-dead thing.

Spying a half full bottle of whiskey on the sideboard on the back wall, Dante got up and went to pick it up. He then dug into the little refrigerator in the back corner and retrieved a couple of Seras' blood packs. Holding the bottle by the neck with one hand and the blood packs and two chipped shot glasses clumsily in the other, he moved back to where Seras sat looking up at him.

"So," he said, sinking into a cross-legged sitting position opposite Seras. He set the bottle, blood packs, and glasses down between them. The posture made him feel like a kid again, but the scent of the alcohol as he unscrewed the bottle helped to cancel out that feeling.

"So," Seras said. She still had the towel round her shoulders, though her hair was mostly dry now.

He thought he saw Seras bite her lip as he ripped one of the blood packs open poured some of the red fluid into a glass, then topped it up with whiskey. There was still plenty of blood left in the pack, and he propped it carefully against one of the desk's legs. The other glass he filled with neat whiskey. He handed the bloody one to Seras.

"Cheers," she said, raising the glass. He grinned, and they drank at the same time. The liquid had a pleasant burn to it as it slid down his throat; he noted with amusement that Seras swallowed quickly, then proceeded to cough. "Sorry," she said. "I don't usually spike my blood with anything."

"Nothing stronger than O-negative, huh?" He picked up the bottle and moved to refill her glass, and she let him.

"For a vampire, I live a pretty sheltered life," she laughed.

"Tell me about it."

"What?"

Dante smiled wolfishly at her over the top of his glass. "Tell me about it. Your life, I mean."

She shook her head bashfully. "You don't want to hear about my life. Or... presumably you mean my... my un-life."

Dante shrugged. "Both." When she raised a brow at him, he went on, "I'm curious."

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. Beautiful vampire, awesome superpowers, mysterious organisation... Yeah, you're right. It does sound pret-ty boring."

She laughed, and he saw her blush again. Maybe it was because he called her beautiful. But surely she must get that all the time?

She paused, and slowly lowered her glass. "Okay," she said, at length. "Where do you want me to start?"

"How 'bout we start with this shady organisation of yours?" What he really wanted to start with was the question _how did you die?_ - but he thought that a bit too bold, even for him. Maybe later. "What's the deal? You only hunt vampires? And... who do you answer to? They must be pretty powerful if they've got someone like you taking orders, right?"

Seras looked pensive. "Okay... well. Originally the Organisation was created to hunt the un-dead - vampires, but also ghouls, which are a bit like zombies - but since there's no one else, we're having to branch out to deal with newer threats." She sipped her drink, grimaced, then continued. "Technically my commander is Sir Hellsing. That's the director of the whole organisation."

"That's the guy you were talking to on the phone?"

Seras blinked, looking surprised. "Guy? Oh... Sir Hellsing is a woman. Integra Hellsing."

Dante raised his eyebrows. "Why'd you call her 'Sir' then?"

Seras was silent for a moment, then she shrugged. "I don't know. But everyone does... no one really questions it. No one dares."

Dante found himself smirking. "I think I'd like to meet this Hellsing chick."

Seras laughed, then downed the remainder of her second glass. "She'd make mincemeat out of you," she said, grinning. Then she hiccoughed.

For a creature of the night, she was a real lightweight.

"So as I said, technically she's my commander, but I usually take orders directly from my master."

Dante raised an eyebrow; now this sounded interesting. He also felt a peculiar twist in his gut, almost like jealousy. Or possibly... exactly like jealousy. "Master, huh?"

Seras blinked a couple times, then seemed to catch his meaning. She spluttered a bit, and waved her hands. Apparently he had misunderstood...

"No, no, not like that... God. No. Umm." He seemed to have really ruffled her.

"No? 'Cause it sounds pretty kinky to me." He leaned back, supporting his weight on one hand on the floor, and finished his own second shot.

"It's not what you think," she insisted, with a tad more urgency, Dante thought, than was absolutely necessary. "It's... I guess it's a vampire thing."

"Aw c'mon. You've got me interested now."

"Well..." She laughed, a little awkwardly. "My master - Alucard - is the one who... who made me what I am. He made me into a vampire." She reached for the blood pack and poured another glass, neat this time. Dante sensed this was a sensitive subject, but didn't interrupt. She raised the glass to her lips and sipped. Then, still holding the glass close to her mouth, she continued, "I was a policewoman, still a rookie. Special Ops. We were dispatched to a village to investigate some rumours about a priest... and, well..." Another sip. "The priest was a vampire."

"Not...?"

"No, not Alucard. He... saved me, I suppose. The priest wanted to kill me and make me one of his ghouls. One of his slaves. Then Master showed up; Sir Integra had sent him on the same mission I'd been on, except he wasn't there to investigate. His mission was much simpler: search and destroy." She was no longer looking at Dante; instead, she had her eyes fixed on some indeterminate point amid the grain of the wooden floorboards between them. He guessed she was reliving that night in some way. He said nothing, just letting her get through it. "The priest tried to use me as a bargaining chip... and as a shield. He didn't think Alucard would shoot a human." She met Dante's eyes then and gave him a wry smile. "Of course he was wrong."

"He _shot _you?"

Still smiling weakly, she moved a hand to the left side of her chest. "Right through one lung. The bullet passed through me and into the priest's heart... and that was the end of him. Nearly the end of me."

Dante was sickened. "So he only saved you because he killed you first?"

Seras shook her head and shrugged. "He's not human. He hasn't been human for a long time; he doesn't think the same way a human would."

"I'm only half human, and I'd never kill a human bystander." He found he couldn't keep the anger out of his voice, and instantly felt bad about it when he saw her pained expression. But still... why was she making excuses for a guy who was clearly an asshole?

Seras lowered her head. "Well..."

"Are you... glad he did it?"

"That's... a hard one to answer." She held her glass in her lap, and stared into the shining red surface of the blood within it. "If I'd never met him - if I'd never gone on that mission - I would still be alive. I'd still be a cop. I'd have a normal life... And I'm not sure how I feel about that. Sometimes I do wish for normality, but other times I feel like I'd be missing out on so much... You know?" She looked up, and Dante had to nod. "As to whether or not I'm glad he didn't just leave me there... Yes. Yes, I am glad he didn't. I... I wanted to go with him."

Dante leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, temporarily unsure of what to say.

Seras was quiet for a moment, then shook her head and laughed nervously. "Sorry," she said. "This is getting a bit depressing."

"So he's your 'master' now," Dante reflected, half to himself. "What does that make you? His slave?"

"Servant," Seras corrected. "Again... a vampire thing. It's meant to be only temporary. He wants me to be stronger, but I'm afraid... I suppose I'm just used to having him there all the time, to protect me, order me. He's even in my head most of the time, just as a presence, a sort of closeness, I guess. It's... a weird kind of security."

Dante exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "You bloodsuckers are a weird bunch o' people, I'll tell you that."

He'd known this girl for maybe a day, and he already felt protective of her. But then, that was nothing new for him. Seras was clearly no damsel, though; at least, not anymore. And now he knew how well her last dashing prince had handled things.

He gripped his glass tightly, thinking.

"So, there you go," Seras said, and he looked up. She looked sheepish, as though embarrassed at how much she'd revealed. "That's my life in a nutshell. Everything else is pretty much about hunting and training... Not really that interesting."

"You're wrong there." Dante made himself grin again.

Seras didn't reply to that; instead she tilted her head to the side and said, "Now you know my secrets. I think it's your turn."

"Aw c'mon, I already told you everything. I have no secrets," he said jovially. It was almost true - he'd told her about his father, about the legends, about what he did. He hadn't told her about his mother, or his brother. He guessed he owed her, but something always held him back from dwelling on Vergil, and on what happened to him. What Dante did to him.

He shrugged as she continued to look at him, expectant.

"It's okay," she said after a while. "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."

He offered her a slow, slightly lopsided smile. A genuine one this time. "Maybe after a few more drinks," he said. She laughed and thrust the bottle toward him.

"Best get started, then."

He obligingly took it. "So, since you're hanging around for a while, how'd you feel about helping me out on a few more missions? Think your Sir Whatsername would be okay with that?"

Having just taken a mouthful of blood, Seras was unable to answer, but she did nod emphatically.

"Awesome. 'Cause it just so happens I'm in the market for a new partner."


	7. Thirteenth Avenue

Seras had no idea what she was doing.

Twilight was gathering over the city, colouring the fuggy sky a deep, luminous turquoise, and a haze of electric light had begun to form, the result of the myriad artificial stars that popped into life amid the towering black buildings. The area where she and Dante stood, however, remained dark, despite the city's nocturnal rhythm. There were no streelights there, and none of the windows of the surrounding apartment blocks glowed the healthy yellow that signified habitation and life. The buildings leaned and teetered, slumping against one another on cracked foundations, towering as they did over similarly cracked asphalt. A little way away the rear entrance of the bar, Bullseye, glowed dully, and beyond that the pink neon of Love Planet flickered.

Dante had told her that the open space in which they now stood, blades in hand, was where the demon tower Temen-ni-gru had once stood, not so very long ago. He said it had risen from the ground one day, thrusting up through the road, reaching straight up to hell.

Seras had questioned this. "Surely," she had said, "Hell is _down_?"

Dante had shrugged, and said he didn't know. All he did know was that the first time he'd been there, it had been up, and the second time, down. He guessed it was relative; probably a dimensional problem or something. The tower had been less like a ladder, more like a gate, he'd explained. It probably wasn't up _or_ down - more like _along_.

Now, years later, the space where it once stood was still empty. The road was cracked and lay rucked up into jagged heaps around the edges, while within there was a perfect circle of smooth, unmarred tarmac. Dante said there should have been a pit - that the tower extended down almost as far as it did up, and that there should be a gaping hole in the road, a back abyss with fire at the bottom. Instead there was just faultless grey, the white painted road markings still in place, but none of the buildings which had been there before. Again, Dante had shrugged, and Seras had pre-empted: "Dimensional problem."

"Okay," Dante was saying. "You're sure you don't want to start with something smaller?"

"I'm sure," Seras said with a nod. In her hands she held one of Dante's broadswords; not just any sword, but the one with the skull in the centre of the cross-guard. Rebellion, he'd called it. Another memento from his famous father. She held the grip tightly with both hands, feeling its texture through her gloves. Jaw set and lips pressed thinly together, she adjusted her stance and threw Dante a determined look. "It's not that heavy."

Dante laughed. "Oh yeah," he said. "I keep forgetting you've got the super-strength thing too."

She admitted it did look a bit ridiculous - a girl as slender and short as herself holding a sword that looked disproportionate even when Dante held it. He had his other favourite blade, the electric sword he had fought her with that first night, resting over his shoulder, his hand loosely on the grip.

"Okay," he said, falling into an easy combat stance. Alastor crackled in anticipation.

They moved slowly at first, with Dante taking her through some basic stances and moves. Granted, slow for them might be a normal speed for a human, but she could tell that it was hard work for him to maintain the patience required to teach a beginner. She did not take to it naturally.

Seras had been staying with the young devil for nearly a week now, sleeping in his room during the mornings (while he crashed on the couch downstairs) and spending the afternoons and nights accompanying Dante, and sometimes Trish, on missions. So far nothing much had come up; Dante seemed frustrated at the "small fry" he was required to put down, but for Seras it was a learning experience.

The night before, a Friday, Trish had stopped by to wring some money out of Dante. In the course of her visit, alcohol was consumed, and it was suggested (Seras forgot by whom) that the young vampire have a go at fighting with a sword.

They practiced well past dusk, until the sky was black; since both could see well enough in the dark, it was a while until they noticed.

"You're getting better," Dante said, as Seras successfully executed a complicated little move he had just taught her, and finished with Rebellion's blade against his throat. She had the feeling he had let her do that, but found she didn't much mind. She was pretty sure a sword just wasn't her weapon - she preferred guns and claws - but playing around with one was fun, for a time. "Wanna try sparring for real?"

She grimaced. "I don't know. I suppose... I could give it a go..." She hefted the sword, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Then she met Dante's eyes and nodded.

"All right, then," Dante said, clearly pleased at the change of pace. He waited to let her take the first swing, but after that he seemed to spring into action. "Don't hold anything back!" he called as their swords clashed together. Seras grit her teeth, spun, and swung Rebellion toward Dante's side, putting all her un-dead strength behind it. Dante blocked it, of course, and sparks flew where their blades connected. They continued for some time; Seras lost track of how long, as she was too busy trying to keep an eye on Dante. He was fast, faster than her, due only in part to the years he had spent using a sword compared to the short hours that she had. It was all she could do to keep up with him, and she still felt he was holding back. Still, they were sparring to teach her how to sword-fight, not for general training; she wouldn't use her claws or teeth or other vampiric powers, and he wouldn't shoot fireballs from his fingertips. They were both holding back something.

She felt she was keeping up pretty well. Most of her time was spent blocking Dante's attacks, and it took all her concentration to maintain her co-ordination

It was too fast for her to register until it was over, even with her vampiric reflexes. Alastor flashed a blue o-zone trail in the air above their heads, readying for the downswing; Seras saw her opportunity and thrust Rebellion forward, meeting only the slightest resistance when the point connected with flesh, and the length of the blade slid wetly through the devil's body.

Abruptly, she froze, horror etched on her face, and she gave a raw cry. Dante had tensed up, sword-arm dropped to his side. His teeth clenched and eyes closed, he loosey gripped Rebellion with his free hand, an inch from where it penetrated his gut.

"Oh my _God_, Dante! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I-"

She trailed off when Dante opened his eyes, met her frightened gaze, and laughed. There was a thin trickle of blood coming from between his lips.

"Nice one," he said. In response to Seras' stunned and horrified silence, he merely chuckled, tightened his grip on the blade, and pulled. "I had to let you get in one easy win, right?" Seras relinquished her hold on Rebellion's grip as Dante eased the blade out of him. It had passed right through and out his back, so when it finally slid free to be stabbed into the tarmac there was a slim but definite hole in his abdomen. Thick blood oozed from the wound, darkening his coat.

"Doesn't... Didn't that hurt?" Seras asked. When she and Dante had fought the first time, he had practically gored her with one of his clawed hands, and she would not hesitate to name that as one of the most painful experiences of her life. If she had not already been dead, it would obviously have killed her; she had not thought a living devil would be as hardy. And yet... there he stood, grinning like a schoolboy.

He shrugged one shoulder. Seras could see through the rip in his clothing that the wound, still slick with red as it was, had already healed to a raised pink line.

"Nah," he said, slipping Alastor back into its sheath. "Kinda stings, I guess. What's the matter? You look mad."

Seras stared at him a moment, then balled her hands into fists. "You..." She bared her teeth in a snarl, and then squarely thumped him on the chest, grabbing his coat lapel with her other hand. "You utter _shit_!"

"Woah, hey," Dante said, laughing as he caught her by the upper arms and held her steady. Not to be defeated so easily, Seras kicked him in the shin. "Ow."

"Oh, sure, _that_ hurt," Seras said. She glared up at him. "I thought I'd really hurt you."

Dante's face softened a little, grin easing into that rare warm, lopsided smile. "I'm fine." He moved a hand to his abdomen, easing the cloth so that Seras could see the rapidly fading scar beneath the blood. Grudgingly, Seras admitted that he was right. "It's just a little flesh wound." He laughed again. "I'm just as tough as you, you know!"

Seras frowned, curling her fingers round both his lapels. "Yeah, well," she muttered sullenly, eyes lowered. "How'm I supposed to know that?"

"Hey." Seras felt gloved fingers ease her chin up, and she tensed as his other hand slipped up to her shoulder. "I'm not used to havin' people worry about me. It's kinda nice... y'know?"

Seras worried at her bottom lip, noticing to her embarrassment that his proximity was causing her fangs to lengthen. She could smell his blood beneath his skin, a curiously bitter scent, undoubtedly more potent than the blood of humans. Her eyes slid to his throat.

"I wasn't worried," she said.

"Really." His thumb moved from her chin to her lower lip, and she closed her eyes.He leaned in, and she felt herself freeze up when his lips touched hers. It was... strange, but not unpleasant. He was so warm, so _alive_... He began to move away when she still didn't relax, but she quickly came to her senses and, on impulse alone, pulled him closer and kissed him, standing up on her toes to reach. She thought she felt him smile, and was alarmed when a small growl escaped her throat.

When he pulled back, she licked her lips and swallowed, her throat dry. Shakily, she took two steps back and looked down. "I... Um."

She didn't know what was wrong with her. Her cheeks coloured with embarrassment, and she shrank back as if on instinct - so unused to affection was she that flight was her automatic reaction - while her teeth remained long and pointed whilst her gut twisted in unmistakable hunger. The realisation that she wanted to drink - because of _him_ - made her take another frightened step back. The idea horrified her; how could she think of harming someone who had shown her nothing but friendship since taking her in?

She covered her mouth with one hand and, unable to meet Dante's perplexed stare, and said, "I'm sorry. I should... go." She began to leave, then turned back and hastily added, "Thank you for the lesson."

"Whoa hey, wait!" Dante made to grab her arm, but she was already out of his reach. "Seras!"

She ran back to Dante's place, letting the double doors crash closed behind her. Biting at her lower lip with her fangs, she paced the dusty floorboards. How was she going to explain this one?

She was still twisting her fingers together when Dante toed one of the doors open and stepped in. He had Alastor in its sheath on his back, and the still-bloody Rebellion in his right hand. Seras looked up and met his eyes, a mixture of guilt, fear, and relief on her face. His expression was mostly blank, but he did offer her a small crooked smile when their eyes met.

He stepped forward, and the door swung behind him. He was about to speak when the door hit something - a hand - preventing it from shutting. Dante and Seras turned, and the door was abruptly pushed open from the other side with such force that it crashed against the adjacent wall. In the doorway stood a young woman Seras had not seen before, but from Dante's reaction - a groan and a hand to his forehead - he clearly had. The woman had short dark hair cut in a spiky bob, pale skin, mismatched eyes, and a small scar over the bridge of her nose. She was dressed in black shorts and a white skirt, along with tall pink boots and various belts of ammo and holstered firearms. On a strap over her back, she carried a gun that almost rivalled Seras' Harkonnen in size. She stepped into the office with a cocky strut that suggested she had every right to be there.

"Lady," Dante said. The woman graced Dante with a smile. "What do I owe you this time?"

"Oh come on," said the woman. "Can't I just drop in to see an old friend now and then?"

Dante ran a hand through his hair. "You can. But you don't usually."

The woman's eyes moved from Dante to Seras, who stood awkwardly near the desk, hands clasped in front of her.

"You're the vampire, right?"

"Um." Seras nodded. "Seras Victoria."

The woman nodded. "Trish mentioned you." She strolled over to the couch and sat down, reclining easily and crossing her legs. "Did my clothes fit okay?"

"Oh! They were yours?"

The woman nodded.

"Seras," Dante interrupted. "This is Lady. I told you you'd meet her sooner or later." He offered a sheepish smile.

Seras raised one hand in a half-hearted, nervous wave. "Hi."

Lady smirked slightly and then turned back to Dante, expression quickly hardening. "Dante, we have a new mission."

Dante set Rebellion down on the pool table, grabbed a chair and dragged it closer to the couch, straddling it and leaning his elbows on its back. Seras perched awkwardly on the edge of the desk, once again feeling out of place. Her bloodlust had died down, but her embarrassment had not.

"I've been talking to Morrison," Lady began. "He says he has reason to believe there's something going down in the couple of weeks, something big."

Dante raised an eyebrow. "How big? We talking another Chicago, or what?"

"Pretty big." Lady uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "We could be talking..."

All eyes turned to the doors as they crashed open again, revealing a familiar figure. Clad in her usual black leather, Trish had her arms crossed, her weight shifted onto one foot, accentuating the curve of her hips. "Another Mallet," she finished for Lady.

Dante hissed. "Shit..." He glanced over to Seras, back to Lady, then back Trish. Then his mouth stretched into a slow, fiendish smile. "That's just great," he said, apparently without sarcasm. "Things have been pretty slow around here. It's about time we had another party."


	8. Mnemosyne

"What's..." Seras began. She cleared her dry throat and tried again. "What's Mallet?"

The four of them were now settled in Dante's office, drinks poured, pizza ordered. Dante and Lady sprawled on the couch, Trish reclined in the chair behind Dante's desk, feet propped up on the desk, ankles crossed, while Seras herself leaned against the pool table, arms folded.

Dante and Trish exchanged glances, and then Dante turned to Seras and explained, "Mallet Island is where Mundus, Hell's head honcho, tried to create a portal to the demon world a few years back."

Seras was about to speak, but Trish interrupted, her tone patient but flat. "The demons you've been fighting with Dante have crossed over from the demon world through portals of their own," she said. "But for more powerful demons, a larger portal is needed. Most of the demons you'll encounter in this world are footsoldiers, peons. They can cross over pretty easily. However, Mundus is too powerful a demon to be able to pass through with such ease. The barriers set in place by _his _father," as she said this she nodded toward Dante, "won't allow it. However, with the right place, the right magic, and enough time, a portal can be opened."

"Mallet Island had always been a portal to the demon world," Dante interjected. "It had just been dormant for years."

"Centuries," Trish corrected.

"Yeah."

"He probably would have succeeded," Trish went on, removing her feet from the desk and elegantly crossing her legs. "If he hadn't become so ambitious."

"What happened?" If this had really been such an important, dangerous event, Seras wondered why Dante had not spoken about it before. In the time they'd spent together he had never seemed to pass up a chance to brag about his past missions and accomplishments.

Trish shrugged. "He sent me to lure Dante, the son of Mundus' worst enemy, to the island, where he planned to ambush and kill him."

Seras blinked a couple of times. "He... sent you...?"

She saw Trish's full, gorgeous lips curve into a small, cold smile. "You must have noticed," she said, holding up one slender hand and letting golden electricity ripple over it, arcing between her fingers. "That I'm of demon stock."

"Well," Seras said, a little flustered. She looked down at her hands, then back to Trish. "Yeah, but I didn't really think about it...?" It sounded weak, but it was true; in her line of work, she reasoned, it paid to take such things in her stride. After learning that Dante was half demon and an ally, she had shrugged off Trish's obviously superhuman powers, telling herself that her case was perhaps similar to Dante's, seeing as they were comrades.

"Mundus created me specifically for the purpose of luring Dante into his trap. I'm a full-blooded demon."

"But you're a good guy now," Seras said, her voice betraying her confusion and admiration.

"That's debatable," Lady said with a snicker, earning a look from Trish.

"Yes," Trish said. "Thanks to Dante."

Dante yawned theatrically, leaning back on the couch and stretching. "Anyway," he said. "Can we get back to the mission?"

"All right," Lady said, with sudden businesslike authority. She sat up, ready to speak, but was pre-empted by a loud knocking at the main door. Sighing, Dante got up to answer it. A gangly delivery boy stared up at him in ill-concealed fear when he opened the door. Seras couldn't resist a smile; over six feet tall with that shock of white hair, dressed still in his dramatic red and black, Dante cut a pretty intimidating figure.

He grinned and took the pizzas off the boy's hands, then turned apologetically to Trish and Lady. "Hey, can I borrow some change?"

* * *

Alucard sneered in disgust as his pitiful quarry cringed and scraped, on its knees in the corner. The vampire had his Jackal aimed at the creature's head.

This mark was humanoid, and could probably have passed for human under normal circumstances. Alucard, however, could smell the difference - its blood smelled darker somehow, more acrid, as though it were burnt. More potent than a human's. Its ears were long and pointed, which it had tried to conceal by growing its shaggy hair long. Its teeth were razors, and its wide, manic eyes flashed red as it began to speak in a raw, screeching voice.

"You can kill me," it said, dry lips stretched into an unworldly grin; more of a grimace.

"I intend to."

"You can kill me, but... but it won't do any good." The creature laughed, a shrill, grating sound like a hyena. "I am just one. They are many, and he... he will head their army. You can't stop what's coming!"

Alucard tilted his head to the side. The creature's ravings were annoying him now. He squeezed the trigger.

"You can't stop wha-" The demon gave a wet shriek as Alucard shot him in the throat, and then was silenced forever when the second bullet blasted his head open.

"Target has been neutralised," he informed Integra, a short while later. He was emerging from the darkened warehouse where he had eventually caught up with his troublesome quarry, and Integra was sitting in the back of the black Rolls, window rolled half way down.

"Any problems?"

"No. Just another one of these demons in human disguise. They're small fry."

"Even you have to admit, though," said Integra, rolling the window down all the way and leaning out, looking up at the vampire, her face stern. "They _are _getting more powerful."

Alucard gave a grudging "humph". "They're nothing we can't handle."

"But what if they continue to increase in strength? Alucard, we're not seeing any decline in their numbers, and it seems like each one is stronger than the last. We have no reason to believe this trend will abate."

Alucard looked down at her. "Scared, master?" Integra's lips pressed together in a thin line. "It's not like you to fear the unknown."

"What I do fear is things getting out of hand."

They were silent for a moment, Alucard studying his master's face.

"You want to recall her."

Integra met his eyes. "I do. We may have something serious on our hands before long, and I can't afford to have my second best weapon off gallivanting on some kind of glorified holiday."

Alucard smirked. It was about time his master saw reason and ordered Seras back home. The quiet was starting to bother him - he had grown used to the girl's presence, the constant mental contact. Even though he knew it was melodramatic to think so, the silence was too reminiscent of his thirty-year spell in the dungeons for his liking.

He said nothing, only nodded once before moving on. Integra rolled up the window and watched him walk away for a moment, before instructing her driver it was time to move on.

* * *

"You ready?" Dante said. He met Seras' eyes over the map. This was the first time they'd been this close, and alone, since their sparring match the week before.

The week had been spent going over what information Lady and Trish had, and attempting to formulate some kind of battle plan. Dante had been less than helpful, preferring to approach the problem head-on, but the girls had insisted that they have a strategy of some form.

They still weren't sure precisely what was going down. What they were sure of was that a demon - they were not yet sure who - would be attempting to open a portal to the demon world within the next seven days. Lady's intel had it that the location of the portal would be a remote town - all but derelict for a number of years - a couple of hundred miles north of the city. Seras had commented that it was fortunate it wasn't farther, to which Dante had merely shrugged and told her that, usually, the suckers that crawled out of these holes wanted to be within chewing distance of the son of Sparda when they emerged. They were going early in the hopes of pre-empting the hellspawn invasion that Dante said was bound to happen once the portal began to open.

Swallowing, her throat dry, Seras nodded and said, "Ready."

They were to travel in convoy - Dante and Seras on Dante's motorbike, Trish and Lady each on their own bikes. Loaded up with all their equipment and weapons - a veritable arsenal for each of them - they were a pretty strange looking crew. Seras was armed with her own handgun, the assault rifle Dante had lent her earlier, and a couple of small submachine guns she had acquired two days before whilst accompanying Trish and Lady on a shopping trip of sorts. That alone had been a curious experience. The two women behaved like typical girlfriends, shopping for clothes, trying on shoes, chatting amiably, and then they would stroll straight from a clothing boutique into a weapon shop and start comparing guns. Seras wasn't used to being so open about carrying a weapon.

She was dressed in her own clothes this time, since she had wasted no time, following Dante's invitation, in collecting her stuff from the motel, checking out, and making herself at home at the devil hunter's office, instead. She hadn't packed much, so she wore a variation of her usual attire: heavy black boots, stretchy black miniskirt with a fresh, non-singed pair of stockings, a pale blue tank top, and the same black jacket she had been wearing that night in the bar.

"All right then," Dante said with a wolfish grin. "Let's get this party started."

He scrunched up the map, shoved it into a pocket in the lining of his coat, and offered Seras his arm. Laughing, Seras hooked her arm through his, and allowed him to lead her, with an exaggerated version of his usual swagger, to the door. He hadn't said anything about her slip-up, hadn't tried to discuss it at all, and Seras silently thanked him for dispelling the tension with his irreverent mood and showy antics.

As they emerged into the dusty courtyard outside Dante's shop, dusk was just beginning to fall. They were travelling by night partly out of consideration for Seras, who - much to her surprise and pleasure - seemed to have been swiftly accepted as a member of their strange little group. She guessed she did have the right qualifications, physically speaking; the only thing she lacked in common with the other two women was a history with the devil hunter who had drawn them together, though she hoped to make up for that in time. She tried to avoid thinking too much about the future, though; as much as she was enjoying this brief sojourn from her duties, from orders, and from being her master's servant, she knew that sooner or later she _would _have to return to London. It wasn't a thought she particularly relished, since, even though the Hellsing mansion and its subterranean labyrinth had become her home, she desperately wanted to get to know her new friends better, especially Dante himself.

Having had a little time to think about what happened after their sparring match, she had come to some mixed conclusions. It wasn't so alarming to find herself attracted to him; he was handsome and charming, with a disarming smile and a curiously old-fashioned sense of chivalry, once you saw past the smug one-liners and lousy pick-up lines. And, judging from the fact that it was _he _who had made the first move, she could safely assume that he felt something for her. But, she thought, they had known each other for so short a time, and she had very little clue what she was doing. In the end, she decided that the only thing to do was to go with the flow for now, and deal with her mixed up personal feelings after they had beaten down whatever evil critters crawled out of this hell-mouth.

Lady and Trish were waiting outside, already astride their bikes, chatting about something. They looked up when Seras and Dante emerged, and swiftly kick-started their bikes. Dante's gleaming motorbike stood, leaning on its kickstand, at the bottom of the steps leading down from the shop's entrance. Dante got on first, and Seras gingerly sat behind him.

"You're sure you're up to this?" asked Trish, eyeing Seras steadily. Seras set her jaw and nodded.

"I am." She may be a rookie in the realm of demon hunting, but she was a good fighter, and a strong vampire. Nowhere near as strong as her master, maybe, but she had been able to hold her own against the fiends she'd encountered since coming to the USA, and, much to her delight, she seemed to be able to keep up with Dante and Trish reasonably well. Lady had astounded her; she was the only member of the group, Seras had been assured, who did not possess any superhuman traits at all. She was one hundred percent human, and had been quite eager to stress her humanity, presumably taking (deserved) pride in her ability to pose more than a fair threat to most varieties of demon despite her humble human status.

Trish studied Seras for a moment longer before, it seemed, accepting that she was indeed up to the challenge, and nodding slightly.

"All right, then," she said. "Let's go."


	9. Dis

**Notes:** Paleview is based in part on Centralia, Pennsylvania, the town which also inspired Silent Hill. That town has a coal fire burning beneath it; Paleview, however, has the fires of Hell... XD The name is fairly generic, which is sort of deliberate. I went with the abandoned desert town because I wanted some place suitably creepy, but also very different from the Gothic-styled Mallet Island.

* * *

"So this is it?"

Seras' boots scuffed up dust as she dismounted from the bike, and a warm breeze stirred her hair. The others dismounted as well, and stood a little behind her, taking in their location. It was around two in the morning, and it was still dark, though the desolate landscape was somehow hot. Seras felt a thin blood sweat form a sheen on her skin.

"Yup," Dante said, hooking his thumbs in his belt.

"This is the gateway to Hell."

"It's _a_ gateway," said Trish, strolling to Seras' side. She had one hand on her hip, and looked vaguely uneasy. It was hard to tell, with her trademark veneer of nonchalant cool, but Seras could smell a faint scent of fear from all of them. Trish and Dante looked ice cool as usual, though; Lady looked the most apprehensive. Seras didn't blame her.

Out of the four of them, Seras herself was the most perturbed by the sight before them.

The road rolled ahead in a straight line, though further ahead the tarmac seemed to fold up on itself in places, resulting in jagged cracks and ruptures, from which issued noxious smoke. The town was enveloped in heat shimmer distortion, its low, ramshackle buildings appearing to slump in the heat. Grey fences screened areas of the town, which sprawled into the desert like a dead animal, slow plumes of smoke rising into the dark sky here and there. Between them and the town was a tall mesh storm fence, its main gate broken, chains lying like snakes in the dust. Plastic barrier tape fluttered in the stale breeze created by the fires under the town, and the fence's numerous warning signs had all but been obscured by ash, sand, and bullet holes.

"Kind of a fixer-upper, huh," Dante said absently. He turned to Seras and caught her eye, then gave her a crooked smirk. "What do you say we get this show on the road?"

Seras nodded, and adjusted the rifle strap over her shoulder. As she did so, a familiar buzzing issued from her jacket pocket, and her stomach lurched. Grimacing, she drew out her phone and turned apologetically to her companions. The caller ID read "HQ", so the thought of simply turning the phone off without answering never crossed her mind.

"This won't take a minute," she said, flipping the phone open. Trish and Lady exchanged glances, and then nodded to Dante and began to walk into the town. Dante shifted his weight to one foot, staying behind to wait for her.

"Sir."

"Seras. Status report."

Integral Hellsing's crisp voice in her ear was like a pull back to earth - a snap back to reality, and at the same time a comfort. After all, she stood in the midst of a foreign desert, on the lip of a hell-mouth, accompanied by a devil. Integra's voice was something reassuringly familiar.

"Sir. I'm about to commence a mission to prevent the opening of a large portal to the Demon World. Dante and two of his, uh, associates are with me."

Integral interrupted. "Portal to... Seras, what on Earth are you talking about?" Integral sounded irritated, and Seras tried very hard to keep her own tone calm and placating.

"I explained to you before about Mr. Sparda's heritage? There are two worlds, ours and theirs. Right now some demons are trying to break through from their own world into ours, and trust me: we don't want that to happen."

Integral hesitated before replying, and Seras heard her sigh. "Seras, I was calling to order you to come home."

Seras tensed, inhaling sharply.

"With all due respect, sir, I really feel that I would be doing more good here. I... don't have time to explain further, but-" From somewhere in the town she heard gunshots, and something inhuman screamed into the cold desert night. "Unless we move now, all Hell's going to break loose, and I mean that literally. We're not talking just vampires anymore. These are full-blooded demons; they're big, powerful, and seriously nasty."

Integral was quiet for a moment, and Seras heard her take a breath. The silence was agonising.

Eventually, Integral said, "Do you need back-up?"

Seras exhaled, and then found herself laughing in relief. She hadn't even been aware of holding - or taking - a breath. She knew that back-up would mean only one person: none of the human troops were even remotely equipped to deal with the new demonic threat, so it would be her master, alone. "No," she said. "I think... I think we've got this one covered. Mr. Sparda and his colleagues have been doing this sort of thing for a long time, and-"

She looked up when she noticed Dante gesturing to her, miming that she should give him the phone.

"Um, sir, Dante wants to speak to you for a moment, I think."

"Put him on," Integral replied, and Seras couldn't place her tone any more. "I simply must know what this so-called legendary knight has to say to me."

Grimacing, Seras handed her mobile to Dante.

"Hey there, Miss Hellsing," he began jovially, grinning and winking at Seras when she gave him a horrified look. Seras then covered her eyes with her hand and suppressed a sigh. She could only imagine what her boss's reaction to Dante's blasé attitude might be. "S'good to 

finally put a voice to the name."

"Likewise," Integral replied, her voice just audible to Seras due to her enhanced senses. Pleasantly surprised, she stilled and listened. "Tell me, Mr. Sparda-"

"Dante's fine," Dante interrupted. "The kid only calls me that 'cause she's too polite for her own good."

"All right. Tell me, then, is what Officer Victoria says true?"

"The stuff about the portal to the Demon World? Yeah, 'fraid so. But don't worry, though! I do this kind of thing all the time, it'll be no problem. I promise I'll bring your little bloodsucker back in one piece." He flashed Seras a grin, but the vampire merely gave him a disapproving look.

"You're sure you have the situation under control?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't sweat it. Hey look, lady, it's been great talking to you, but I've really gotta go. Demons to slay, an' all that. You understand."

With that he snapped the phone shut, moved closer to Seras - who was shocked and furious at his hanging up so carelessly on her employer - and carefully slipped the phone back into her jacket's inside pocket. She grit her teeth and glared up at him, thrown by his proximity. He offered her a lopsided smile and withdrew his hand.

"Shall we?"

"We'll get this done quicker if we split up," she said quietly. She turned from him and began to stalk into the town.

"Hey, wait!" Dante caught up with her in two easy strides, and caught her elbow. "No way am I letting you wander around this place by yourself."

She shot him a sidelong look. "I thought you said I could take care of myself."

He let go of her arm and scratched at the back of his head. "Well, yeah, but... It's dangerous."

"It's always dangerous," she replied. She was suddenly so angry at him - his protectiveness was unnecessary, and it was condescending. She was just as strong as he was, and he knew it. She didn't need him to hold her hand, and she didn't need babysitting. "You're not my master, and I don't take orders from you," she near-enough growled, and set off at a jog which quickly accelerated into a superhuman sprint. She wanted to put some distance between them, and she really, really wanted to fight something.

"Hey Seras! Wait!" He sounded angry too, now, but she left him behind. She knew he wouldn't follow her.

--

What passed for the town's museum was really little more than a large concrete shed with a corrugated iron roof and a petrol station attached. The door hung loose on its rusted hinges, and creaked as Seras opened it. The interior was dark and smelled musty; a kind of cloying dryness which contrasted strangely with the desert's ashy heat. Seras took a few steps in, her eyes easily adjusting to the early morning gloom, which was a deeper black to the grey light outside. The room into which she stepped was surprisingly cavernous, and the metal ceiling seeming high above her head. Square glass cases with sloping, cracked tops were laid out symmetrically, each housing a different curio. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust and ash. Directly opposite the entrance, at the end of a broad, dusty walkway, leaned a large, roughly-hewn wooden statue.

Wary, Seras moved forward, keeping one hand on the grip of her handgun. She had her rifle slung over her back, and did not want to use it until she encountered a larger, stronger enemy, which would make such a weapon necessary. She approached the statue with quiet, feline steps - quite a feat in her heavy combat boots. Her eyes flicked continually around the room, trying to watch the clusters of shadow that seemed to move improbably in response to her progress, as though they were creatures in and of themselves. For all she knew, they might be. All in all, the place was far too quiet, and the anticipation was beginning to stretch her too thin. She felt like she was walking into a trap. Of course, she knew it was worse than just that - she was walking into Hell.

The statue loomed over her petite frame, leaning sadly, the old grey wood split here and there, and smoothed down by the years. It was of a figure - she couldn't tell if it was meant to be male or female - with long hair, dressed in a plain robe. They were looking to the side, blank eyes staring into the darkness of the entrance hall's far corner. Seras instinctively followed its blind gaze, but of course she saw nothing but the slowly creeping shadows, and some dust-caked masks, imprisoned by cracked glass. She turned back to the statue. It had the air of something out of place, and out of its time. Maybe, she thought, perhaps foolishly, out of its dimension.

When nothing was forthcoming from that artefact, Seras adjusted her pistol holster and moved to the wide, closed door behind it and slightly to the left. It was shrouded with cobwebs, and bits of timber had been leant against it. She toed these out of the way and tried the door. When it didn't give immediately, she stubbornly shouldered it open, hearing hinges scream and wood break. Once on the other side, she saw that the door had been barred with planks nailed across the frame, and pallets and chairs had been stacked in a rudimentary barricade as well. These she shoved aside, her vampiric strength making it only a minor inconvenience. However, she couldn't help but wonder why such a barricade had been put in place at all, and whether it had been to keep something out, or something in.

This room was smaller, but lighter. A portion of the roof had fallen in, allowing Seras a view of the still night sky. Fragile moonlight poked silvery fingers into the wreckage, and by its illumination she could pick out a new selection of attractions. From the outside, the Paleview museum had seemed like a cheap roadside attraction, a horde of junk accrued to lasso in rare, passing tourists. But now Seras could see that the unassuming shack in fact hid improbable treasures that would fetch impressive prices in even the toughest auction houses. Everything lay amongst the ruins, though - half crushed by the caved roof, ingrained with soot, and sprinkled with the broken shards of what had once been functional display cases. Beneath a half rotten supporting beam, now leaning at an angle after finally breaking, and bringing down the bigger portion of the roof, Seras spied a promising yellow glint.

She moved closer, shifted some debris out of the way, and inhaled softly. Another statue, smaller than the last, and this one made not of sun-bleached wood but cloudy, tarnished gold, still smooth and bright in patches. It was a figure, half hunched over, holding a large hourglass on its shoulders, in which sparkled grains of gold, still dazzling through the grime settled on the glass. Around the figure's feet was crusted some kind of red crystalline substance. Seras scraped at it with the tip of one gloved finger.

As she raised her hand to inspect the strange deposit, she heard a dry scraping behind her, and she immediately knew it was time to fight. Still crouched at the statue's feet, she drew her sturdy handgun and gripped it in both hands. She stilled, listening to her enemies draw near; they moved with unsubtle, shuffling steps, though did not yet move to attack. She closed her eyes, focusing her third eye, clocking the location of each of her soon-to-be assailants. Only five, appeared, it seemed, out of the ether - or, more likely, through small portals of their own, torn through the barrier between this world and Hell.

She abruptly rose to her feet, simultaneously turning, pistol raised. She fired off six shots at the first targets she could see, and the bitter taste of cordite bit its way into her throat as gun smoke drifted hotly upward, toward the open roof.

There were five of them in the rubble-strewn room - five spindly-limbed demons armed with blades and claws and vicious teeth, lurching toward her with an improbable, unbalanced gait. Seras set her jaw, pausing only for an instant; she had wounded two of them, and those two hunched and scraped at the filthy floor, black blood seeping from their injuries.

One on the left crouched, ready to attack, and Seras moved first. Jumping to the far left, she rebounded off a large chunk of rubble and sprang upward, twisting in midair and swinging her leg 'round in a whip-quick roundhouse kick to the creature's neck. There was a wet crunch, and its head disconnected from its body. Seras landed gracefully, her vampiric agility giving her the advantage over these lumbering puppets. A spray of bullets stunned the nearest three, and she dashed forward - ducking to avoid a stream of thrown blades. She grabbed the nearest demon's arm, gripping near the wrist and at the shoulder, and, baring her teeth, ripped the limb off. The monster's noxious blood sprayed across its fellows and her, making her screw up her face in revulsion. Their blood smelled awful, like poison and rot - nothing like how Dante's similarly demonic blood had smelled when they had been so uncomfortably close that night after sparring. She wondered, fleetingly, if there were different castes of demons, different species, and then remembered that Dante was, of course, of noble blood. His father had been demonic aristocracy. Maybe that meant something physically, too.

Having no time to consider this, she spun in another roundhouse kick, this time feeling her heavy boot connect with the demon's torso and sink _in_. It was split in two, and the two halves fell to the ground. The dead demons, she noticed, left red residue where they fell, which quickly crystallised into orb-like stones.

Three left. A high kick broke the neck of the next, and she ripped the rest of it apart with her hands, having first placed the heated barrel of her pistol between her sharp, elongated teeth. The next lunged at her, blades flashing. She caught it off-balance, grabbing the back of its head as she darted behind it. She slammed it face-first into the wall, crushing its skull and smearing a dark, bloody pulp across the concrete. The last demon appeared reluctant to attack, but Seras' vision was painted crimson and she would not stop. She took her gun from her mouth and shot the creature in the head, then three times in the torso before it fell. It crumpled to the ground with a sorry whining noise, and Seras stood motionless for a long moment, gun still smoking.

She exhaled slowly, gladly ridding her lungs of the foul-scented air. She lowered her gun and holstered it. Then, sinking into a crouch, she gathered some of the dark red deposits the demons had left behind. It appeared to be a crystallised form of their blood, the process having clarified the colour into an almost pleasing shade of red. Holding some of the orbs in her gloved palm, Seras approached the statue.


	10. 66 Slum Avenue

A/N: Patty is awesome. I love her. That is all X3

--

The sun was still rising when Patty arrived at the office. She didn't usually leave the orphanage so early, but she'd been awake for nearly two hours anyway, after a sleepless night. In need of something to do, she had dressed quickly and made her way over to Slum Avenue - the route was familiar to her now, and so, even as a young girl travelling alone, she felt no fear when making it, even at odd hours. Sure, it wasn't the safest of neighbourhoods, but most of the dangers there came not from delinquents and criminals, but from stray demons and ghouls, most of whom had eventually come to realise that messing with associates of the town's premier devil hunter was a Bad Idea. As such, she invariably reached Dante's office unmolested.

The place seemed dingy at this hour - more so than usual, anyway. She lit a couple of lamps and made sure the grimy windows were uncovered by the dusty curtains. Then, after sitting for a few minutes on the creaking couch, fretting, she sprang to her feet, donned the little apron she had taken to keeping on Dante's hat-stand - where his old coat, his first red trench, still hung, forgotten - and went to work industriously cleaning the office. It would keep her occupied for at least a couple of hours, and then she could always move on to the rest of the property; although, granted, there wasn't a lot else to it. There was a bathroom and rarely-used kitchen in the back on the ground floor, then Dante's bedroom upstairs, which had lately been given over to Seras, the visiting vampire. He may be smug and boorish at times, but it seemed Patty's unofficial guardian was still something of a gentleman. There were ratty old blankets slung over the back of the couch which indicated where he had temporarily relocated to.

She had just finished gathering a collection of empty pizza boxes, and had stacked them by the door ready to be taken out with the rest of the trash, when she noticed that a thick mist was gathering outside. The girl frowned, and glanced back at the clock behind Dante's desk. It was just approaching seven in the morning; if there had been fog earlier, it should just be starting to be burn off in the morning sun. Nervously, she peered out the window again. The mist was darkening, forming an eerie miasma which obscured the front courtyard and narrow street, and seemed to press in against the glass. Patty ran to the front door and made sure it was locked, then drew the sundry bolts and chains she and Morrison had suggested installing, despite Dante's complaints. She then backed up until she hit the desk, and then ran around it to sit nervously in Dante's chair. The sky outside the front windows was nearly black now, and Patty knew there wasn't even a chance of it being a natural phenomenon. Biting her lower lip, she wondered what she should do. Dante and the girls were still out on the mission - the very reason Patty had been worried and restless enough to come over and play cleaner - and were unreachable. Dante didn't carry a phone, and she didn't have Lady's number on her, anyway. She considered trying Morrison, if she could find his number somewhere in the desk...

Her train of thought was abruptly interrupted, however, when the door creaked, and she looked up to see the inky fog seeping through the surrounding cracks, and oozing through the keyhole. She gave an involuntary yelp and grabbed the nearest thing - her broom - then jumped to her feet and backed up against the rear wall. Her breath short, she froze. She didn't know what to do. The black cloud thickened in the centre of the room, and gradually coalesced into a shape - a figure. Moments later she was, to her shock, looking at a tall man in a red coat and hat, with reflective orange shades and undulating black hair. There was still a faint black aura around him, as he finished his transformation and completely drew the shadows into himself.

She must have let out some sound of surprise or fear because, an instant later, he looked up and spied her. He did not attack, only started slightly, as though he had not expected to see her there; as though he had expected to see someone else.

He reached up with one hand - she noted his gloves, which were white and printed with arcane symbols - and removed his glasses. To her, he said, "Who are _you_?"

--

Seras was beginning to tire. She was on her third clip of bullets for her pistol, but had as yet managed not to use her rifle. Her enemies grew gradually stronger, she noticed; the further she progressed - downward, always down - the longer it took to dispatch the batches of nasties that insisted on popping up and trying to rip her to shreds. She growled as she rent open the trunk of one - a particularly unpleasant creature which had tried to burn her with discs of fire _as well as_ the usual requisite blades and teeth - then finished it off with a crushing bite to the throat. It crumpled at her teeth when she let go, dissolving into ash and red crystals.

The crystals continued to interest her. The golden statue in the museum had been a somewhat surreal experience, but kind of a boon. Upon offering the collected orbs, she had entered a strange trance-like state, and had seemed to converse with - with what? the statue? the deity it represented? She didn't know. But the result had been an upgraded pistol and a vial of holy water. She kept the latter carefully in a zip-up pocket of her jacket; she assumed it would do some damage to her demonic enemies, but she was still wary of what it might do to _her_ if it broke and spilled on her. She would save it for a harder fight.

The rear of the museum had yielded a small, crooked door, and a staircase leading down. The town appeared to have a winding labyrinth of subterranean passages dug beneath it, linking basement to basement, and it was these tunnels she now traversed. Now and then she would encounter a door which required an offering of blood or the red crystals before it would open, and every so often she found herself travelling deeper into the earth, via a twisting staircase or vertiginous drop. It was hot, too; the town at ground-level had been hot, but the further down she went - through clouds of burning smoke that would have choked her had she still been alive - the higher the temperature rose. Her skin wore a fine sheen of pink blood-sweat, which had begun to matt into her hair. Sometimes her way was completely blocked by fire or burning rock.

She pushed her hair back with one grubby, bloody hand (having removed her gloves earlier, since they proved to be nothing but a hindrance in the subterranean heat) and jogged down a set of jagged, natural steps. She could no longer hear gunfire, only flames and the groaning and snarling of demons further ahead, further down. She wondered how Dante, Lady, and Trish were doing.

--

In her office, Integral Hellsing reclined in her plush leather chair and stared reflectively out of the window. It was a mild afternoon; not at all portentous, and in no way indicative of the Biblical struggle which was no doubt occurring on the other side of the Atlantic. She inhaled a lungful of smoke, then closed her eyes and slowly let it out.

She had dispatched Alucard a short time ago, having given him the temporary use of a borrowed RAF jet to get across the water. Hellsing may be a "secret" organisation, but there was still some degree of co-operation between her organisation and the British military and government, at least with those sufficiently far up the chain-of-command to know of Hellsing's existence.

She knew Seras had declined her offer for back-up, but the young vampire was too valuable an asset to the organisation for Integral to risk her death on such an unfamiliar and potentially dangerous mission. Her biggest problem was the unfamiliarity of it all - the demon threat had never _been_ a threat before, at least not to her knowledge (she suspected Iscariot were way ahead of her on this matter, which unsettled her), and her father had failed to prepare her for such an eventuality. As such, she was not in a position to make any risky gambles with the lives of her soldiers, living _or_ dead.

Alucard had not been happy. For one thing, he'd had to leave his coffin behind. Integral had explained that Seras had had to do just the same, but it hadn't seemed to placate him much. Still, an order as an order, and since it came from Integral's mouth he had no choice but to obey it. He had departed in a foul temper, but Integral did not regret her decision. She would much rather be over-prepared than under-prepared. She hoped it would be overkill.

--

Patty stared at the stranger, still gripping her broom to her chest. She frowned; he didn't move to attack, but there was no possibility of his being human. She couldn't run anywhere, and she couldn't contact anyone, so instead she decided to answer him.

"Patty Lowell," she said, managing to keep her voice hard and steady. "Who are _you_?"

He regarded her for a moment, his expression hard to read. His eyes were a deep red, and when he smiled - which he did now, a kind of jagged, lopsided smirk - she saw that his teeth were clean white and pointed.

"This is Devil Never Cry, the abode of one Dante Sparda, am I correct?"

Patty set her jaw. "If you're here about a job, you should phone first."

"I'm not here about a job." His voice was low and resonant. "At least, I'm not a client." He glanced around the office, seeming to tire of their conversation. "Where is he?"

Patty debated whether she should tell him Dante would be back soon - in the hopes that he wouldn't hurt her - or the truth, that he was away on a mission - in the hopes that the stranger would come back later. In the end she decided she didn't have any sure way to get rid of him, so she tried the truth.

"He's away right now. If you phone tonight-"

"No," the stranger interrupted, startling the girl into silence. "This can't wait." He narrowed his eyes at her. "Tell me, is there a... a young woman with him? Blonde hair, blue eyes."

"Vampire?" Patty finished for him. She knew it wasn't a good idea to push her luck with this 

guy, but she couldn't help her natural cocky attitude from sneaking out.

Slowly, he said, "Yes. They're a mission together?"

Patty hesitated, then nodded. "Wait... you're..." Her eyes widened as realisation dawned, and as she remembered Dante's throwaway comments regarding his newest partner. Too excited to check herself, she blurted, "You're her 'master', aren't you?"

He seemed surprised. "What would you know of that?"

Less frightened now that she knew who he was, Patty let herself relax a little. Smiling to herself, she began to absent-mindedly sweep the area of floor around her, keeping her eyes down instead of fixed, rabbit-like, on the vampire's bloody red ones.

"If it's _her_ you're looking for, you should have just said before. Anyway," she looked up, "can't you use your psychic vampire powers to find her, or something?" His lip curled, revealing the point of one bestial fang. She shivered, and then continued in a less impudent tone, "There's a town a couple of hundred miles north of here. Paleview. They said there was a hell-mouth there that was about to open. You'll find them there."

He grunted, then turned. He took three paces, then abruptly dissolved into the black mist he had arrived as, phasing through the door, or slipping through the cracks in and around it. Patty dropped her broom and ran to the front window, only to watch the fog shift once more. A cloud of bats rose above the looming, derelict buildings, and disappeared into the brightening sky.


	11. Paleview

Dante stepped into a large cave, lit in flickering orange, deep beneath the town. Fire burned in fissures in the scorched ground, and from rough-hewn stone brazier and gnarled wooden torches. The latter two gave Dante pause, as they indicated the recent presence of something more sentient than the marionette-type demons he had slaughtered to get this far.

He slowed his pace and stalked into the middle of the cave. He kept his sword on his back and his guns holstered, but he had one hand resting on Ivory's grip. The cavern was quiet, save the dull roar of the fires below. At the far end of the cave a massive set of double doors was set into the wall. They were carved with intricate scenes of the Demon World, and appeared to depict a mortal's descent into Hell.

He stepped back before the door's demonic lock – a red hand – could grab him. Its ghostly fingertips just caught his coat's lapel.

"Hm. Red for blood..." He whirled and surveyed the empty cave. He threw out his hands. "But no blood here to spill!" He paced back to the centre of the cavern, nonchalant, impatient. He almost pouted. "I was expecting a party."

The shadows shifted, and a single bat flitted among the stalactites above Dante's head.

He scanned the gloomy cave, all its inky corners.

Meanwhile, behind him, the shadows coalesced in a silent swarm of bats. The winged beasts' spindly wings tangled with one another, and their black bodies melded into one amorphous mass, which gradually, silently, assumed the shape of a man. Out of that blackness, the first feature to form was a mouth, with rows of carnivore teeth, arranged into a broad and over-stretched smile.

Dante turned slowly. He gave a soft "tch" sound when he saw the forming monster, and he calmly drew his gun. A pleased smirk appeared upon his face. "Well look who decided to show up," he said, as a series of crazed red eyes appeared in the figure's "body". These eventually reduced to just two eyes, as the rest of the figure completed its formation. Now before Dante stood a tall, pale man with long black hair. He was dressed in crimson, his long coat of a much older style to Dante's own. His eyes were bloody red, and the unhinged smile remained. "So you're the next big boss, huh? Explains why there are no other demons around here – you scared 'em off."

The stranger tilted his head, and the smile faded. Dante saw a pointed red tongue flick over the serrated jaws. The creature then inhaled deeply. A predator, sniffing the air. The pupils in the bloody eyes expanded and fixed their gaze upon the devil hunter.

"Need me to make the first move? No problem," Dante said with a grin. The stranger's flashy entrance didn't faze him one bit – in fact, he'd seen much, much better. He lifted Ivory and fired.

He hadn't had the time to load up on silver ammo, but the shots still packed a punch since his pistols held a demonic charge. The first few slugs ripped into the stranger's face, and black blood spattered the cave wall behind him.

When the thing started to laugh Dante drew his sword. Ivory in one hand, Rebellion in the other, he swung for the neck. The laughter was all around him, and his blade cut through nothing but air. The shadows surrounded him, and the laughing voice became a purr. The cave had gone darker, the fires gone out. Dante growled and hacked at the black tendrils pulling at him. Red eyes appeared in the dark, and blood poured from every wound the hunter inflicted.

Growing angrier and more disoriented, Dante danced and dodged teeth and hands until the heels of his boots teetered on the edge of one of the wider cracks in the floor. He skidded, looked down, and grit his teeth. "Almost had me there," he called.

He felt cold metal against his neck.

The stranger had pulled a gun from somewhere, and the moment Dante realised the barrel was pointed at his spine the damn thing went off. The bullet shattered his vertebra and damn near left him stumbled forward, spewing and choking on his own blood. The now-familiar sting of silver coursed through his throat and chest.

More shots followed, but Dante was already moving. He sprinted away and leapt, using the wall as a springboard to wheel back, sword swinging. The creature blasted him again and again. He ignored the pain and hacked away. Some of his swings were blocked – the stranger had two weapons now – but others connected and managed to cut bits off. They were both drenched in each other's blood, and Dante's heart sang with the high and the pure, sweet love of battle.

Teeth sank into Dante's shoulder, and he yelled as the pain bloomed. "Fucking... vampire!" What else could he be? Those teeth, the silver bullets. Still, whatever connection Dante had with Seras, _this_ bastard was far from friendly. He turned his head and met the vampire's wild, monster's eyes, and laughed. "And I was worried I might be bored."

He twisted and plunged Rebellion deep into the vampire's gut. Blood gushed, but the creature seemed to be feeding on the crimson miasma that now surrounded them – both their blood mingled together. He stepped back, and the sword slid wetly from the vampire's flesh. Dante watched the wound heal itself. The vampire tilted his head back and licked his lips with an obscene, serpentine tongue. He had taken a couple of good gulps of Dante's blood.

The vampire spoke for the first time. "Your blood is exquisite. I haven't had a demon in ages."

Dante, breathing hard, gave a short bark of a laugh. "Who the hell are you?"

"You've heard all about me, Son of Sparda." He grinned and moved forward. Dante snarled and heaved his sword at the vampire's throat. This time it cut true, and the creature's head hit the ground with a muted thump. Dante curled his lip and kicked the head so that it rolled away and hit a thick stalagmite. It lay, on its side, the eyes wide open.

The shadows in the cavern seemed to lose some of their intensity. The fires were burning again, and Dante could see better.

He did a double-take when he realised the eyes were still fixed on him. The vampire smiled and the head began to melt. The rest of the body collapsed into a rotting shape, and the pooled blood that made the ground glisten flowed into it. The head liquefied and joined this mass, and Dante heard the damned laughter again, echoing around the cave and inside his head.

"You reek of her," the vampire's voice said. His body was reforming itself, and Dante only stood by and watched it. "Half-breed filth... where is she?"

"You know, that's pretty rich coming from your kind," Dante said. He waited until the vampire once again had a head, and then grabbed the creature's jaw. He forced the mouth open, and with his other hand rammed Ebony's barrel deep into the throat. "Party's over." He pulled the trigger.

* * *

Seras stumbled and fell to her knees. She clutched her head with one hand, and fought to hold on to her weapon with the other. She dropped it, and clamped both hands to her temples, where an explosive pain had begun to flower and continued to spread throughout her entire head. After the initial flare subsided she became intensely aware of a sensation she had unconsciously felt for some minutes. The emptiness in her mind, the ache in her chest, which she had grown used to during her time in the States, was gone. It could only mean one thing.

"Master..."

She forced herself to her feet and ran. She left the gun, forgotten, on the sandy cave floor.

The demons she encountered on her way met her teeth and claws as she scrambled and scrapped her way toward her master. She didn't stop to wonder why she could sense him, she just knew that she could, and that the pain had to be an echo of something he was experiencing. She tried to call out using their mental link, but she wasn't focused enough to reach him.

She felt her power grow the closer to him she ran. Demons became easier to take down, although she was sure they were getting bigger. She ripped out a throat with her teeth and let out a deep and bestial growl, her desperation driving her to regress to a demonic state herself. The petty demons' blood was foul to taste, but there was a certain power in it, and this too fuelled her strength.

When all the demons in her way were dead, she ran on, down, down. She reached a cavern where the floor had fallen away, leaving only a gaping black opening. She jumped in without hesitation.

She landed and rolled. A jolting pain ran from her feet through her whole body upon impact, but she shook it off. Her bones were stronger now she was a vampire.

She let out a moan of want – not desire, but the howl of a pining dog. She slowed her pace, gulping down the blood in her mouth. The berserk haze of battle lessened, and she made a hasty attempt to wipe some of the gore from her face. Absently licking the corner of her mouth, she walked down a narrow, but slowly broadening, tunnel. Unlike the caves before, this passage was lit with torches that burned with an eerie crimson light. She heard the sounds of battle up ahead.

When the tunnel opened up, Seras stopped. She was at the mouth of a large cavern, lit with demonic torches and decorated with spindly stalactites and warm pools of discoloured water. In the room's centre was a churning cloud of blood and shadow. The combined stenches of gore and cordite filled her nostrils and made her hungry again.

An instant later and she had forced her animal need away and, once rational, she saw that the cloud was in fact two monsters in battle. Dante's clothes were torn and his pale hair was pink with blood. Rebellion caught the torchlight as it arced and stabbed.

The other combatant was barely humanoid. Many limbed and many eyed, Seras' master had become a living mass of carnage. Within that mass, however, she spied a spindly figure and a familiar set of fangs.

She drew a hoarse breath in, and screamed, "Stop!"

She was shocked at the effect her voice had. It echoed, and the two warriors stilled, all eyes swivelling in her direction. Dante called out to her: "Seras? Get out of here, it's not safe!" In his moment of distraction he was vulnerable, and Alucard used this opportunity to thrust a hand straight through the half-demon's gut. Dante coughed, startled, and snarled. He raised Rebellion, ready to begin the fight again, but Seras sprinted forward and grabbed the blade. Something raw inside her compelled her to protect her sire; perhaps this urge was strengthened by their long separation.

Blood oozed from her palm where Dante's sword cut it, but she held his eyes and growled, "I said stop."

The shadows around them quietened and started to recede. The limb in Dante's abdomen dissolved, and within a few moments Alucard stood some few paces away, his form less hellish – two eyes, two hands, one mouth, no longer grinning.

Dante gave her a long look, and she saw his jaw was tense; a muscle twitched in his cheek. His eyes, normally ice blue, had a red tinge. The force upon his sword lessened, and Seras let go. Temporarily bested, Dante sullenly lowered Rebellion and looked back at the elder vampire.

"You'd better have a damn good explanation."

"I do," Seras said.

She wiped her hand on her skirt, though it was already healing. Turning away from Dante, she paused to take in the appearance of her master. He looked the same as ever – no wounds, of course, and his clothing had mended with his flesh. The only difference to his usual appearance was that his hair now hung long and straight, past his hips, and his face seemed more angular and pinched.

"Come here," he said. Seras walked to him without a thought.

"Sir Integra didn't think I could manage alone..." she said. Her voice was tinged with reproach. Alucard regarded her coolly. Frustrated, Seras made her hands into fists. "And what the hell do you both-"

Alucard silenced her with a rough hand in her hair. He tilted her head up and stood for a long moment coldly inspecting her face. Behind her, Dante shifted his weight but did not sheath his sword. He watched them. "Well, well, police girl... It looks like my master was wrong. You've been _managing _quite well, haven't you? You've fed on demon blood, a lot of it."

Seras wrinkled her nose and pulled out of Alucard's grip. "They're nothing but demon ghouls, really."

"Not like _him_."

"No, not like- …!" Seras shook her hair and it fell into a shaggy, blood-matted sort of order. "No," she said more evenly. "Not like him. This is Dante, my contact. I assume you've been trying to kill each other."

Alucard looked at her with a mildly raised eyebrow and Seras wondered if she had spoken out of turn. She'd been away from him for what felt like so long, perhaps she had forgotten how he expected her to address him. He said nothing, though, and she felt a hint of amusement through their mental link. She frowned deeply and folded her arms, taking a step back. He was mocking her.

"Of course not," Alucard said. He looked at Dante and flashed his teeth.

Dante seemed more relaxed now. He hefted Rebellion onto his shoulder and smirked. "We were just gettin' to know each other."


	12. Tartarus

The red door stood above them like an obelisk. Seras could see the shimmering blood-sheen on its surface, the filmy barrier that would prevent them from moving any further.

"Don't go too close," Dante warned. Seras nodded and moved forward anyway. Alucard stayed where he was – a few paces back, away from Dante, observing.

"We need to go through here," Seras said. She knew this was the way, she could feel it in her blood.

"You need to offer a sacrifice," Dante said. She heard the hiss of Rebellion being slipped back into its sheath on Dante's back.

"Like the statues..." Seras said. She remembered the time god she had found in the museum in the town.

Another step and the door's barrier stretched forward, a claw reaching for her. Unafraid, Seras reached into her pockets and withdrew the blood crystals she had collected. They were very few. Dante joined her and put his hand on her shoulder. All the while she could feel Alucard's silent presence, could feel his burning eyes.

"You fed on them," Dante said. "It's the demon blood it wants..."

The hand came down and Seras screamed, briefly. It passed through her, and when it was gone she felt hungry. It was a deeper red. It had taken the blood from inside her, she, the dead vessel, serving just as well as a crystallised shell.

She stumbled. There was a sound of glass shattering, and the barrier broke into a million sparkling red pieces and disintegrated. The great doors hung dark on their ancient hinges. She exchanged a look with Dante.

He grinned. "Let's rock."

They moved forward together. A kick in unison had the double doors flying open with a reverberating crash, and then the door to hell was opened.

They passed through into a grand hall. Mirrors in ornate frames lined the walls. The rocky floor had been sanded smooth and covered with rich carpets. At the end of the long room was an altar. Behind this a large freize was hung, depicting a hellish landscape. The altar itself looked like any church altar, save the symbols inscribed upon it. The trio paced the length of the hall slowly. Dante and Seras kept their hands on their weapons. Alucard appeared at ease, and cast a curious gaze around the vaulted ceiling and shadowed recesses.

Dante reached the altar first. He inspected it, and nudged it with the toe of his boot. Set upon the polished wood surface was a goblet half filled with black liquid.

"What now?" Seras said. She spoke in a whisper as the hall was so ghostly silent.

"We need to open up a portal," Dante said. "There's one here... I can feel it."

"_Open_ a portal? I thought we were here to _stop_ one from opening?"

Dante turned and flashed her a wolfish grin. "But where's the fun in that?"

Alucard stepped forward and lifted the goblet. He inhaled softly, smelling the dark potion held within it. Seras saw the shiver run through him. She sniffed the air; she could smell it now, too. Power.

"Master, don't."

"Demon blood. Real demon blood. Not ghoul..."

"You don't know-... Master."

He gave her a slow smirk. "Perhaps this is your key." He downed the blood in one gulp.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then Alucard closed his eyes and frowned. He dropped the goblet. Seras suddenly felt sick.

A darkness was creeping over Alucard's skin, a film of blood-shadow that she knew was not a part of him.

"Master!" She stepped forward, but Dante held his arm out and physically held her back. He moved them both back a few paces.

"You'd better be ready for this," he said. His eyes were on Alucard, but he was talking to Seras.

"For what?"

"To go all the way... it's too late now."

"Wasn't it too late already?"

He looked at her and gave a crooked smile. "Yeah, but it seemed more dramatic right now."

She frowned. "Yes, I'm ready to go... all the way to Hell."

They turned back to her master. He was doubled over, and Seras could see that his form was losing cohesion. His gloved hands formed claws, and his teeth were bared. She felt an echo of his pain and clung onto Dante's arm. She screamed, and Alucard collapsed slowly into a heap of bloody gore and blackened clothing, the echo of his inhuman laughter resonating somewhere between Seras' temples. These dissolved further until nothing but black blood was left. This became a still, dark pool that reflected the vaulted ceiling even as it steamed a malodorous vapour.

Seras stared, numb. She felt for their mental link, but was met with only heat and a wailing void. Her legs felt weak.

Dante moved forward, and Seras, still holding onto his arm to stop herself from falling, came with him. The demon-hunter leaned over the pool and looked into it. Close to, under a different slant of light, it became not a pool but a hole. In its depths Seras could see a shadowed tunnel extending down.

"Hell is down..."

"We're already there, princess. Now we just go deeper." Dante flashed anothed ragged smile and jumped.

* * *

She felt like Alice as she fell. He perception of gravity left her, and she flailed in freefall for what felt like an age. She windmilled her arms, and then reached out for Dante. Her fingers found his coat sleeve, and she held on tight. Dante sensed this and a moment later he grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. He wrapped his arms around her and they fell through the darkness together like tandem parachutists, Seras afraid and with her eyes screwed shut, Dante with an eager grin on his face.

"Here it comes!" Dante yelled, and Seras forced herself to open her eyes. Ahead, a pinpoint of light was rapidly growing larger; the end of the tunnel rushed closer. "Get ready!"

Seras didn't have time to ask for what before Dante transformed. They jerked upwards as his wings unfurled and caught the warm updraft. Seras clung onto his shoulders.

The demon lowered them to the ground gracefully, and Seras was able to set her feet upon the rocky floor without so much as a jolt.

"...Show off."

Dante smirked and let go of her. She took a shaky step away from him and gathered herself.

They were in a tiny chamber. No more than a narrow sinkhole, lit by one candle on a bracket set into the wall. She could not see any exit other than back up the way they had come.

"...Did we come the wrong way?" she said. She felt a huge disappointment, which almost overshadowed the acute pain of her master's loss.

"Wait..." Dante held up a finger. "There's something-"

His voice was drowned out by the abrupt roar of tearing rock. Seras covered her ears and crouched. The very earth around them was cracking and breaking apart, the ground shook. She called Dante's name but the words were swallowed by the thunderous noise. She fumbled for a gun, for Dante, for anything, but before she could, the ground fell away beneath her. Without Dante's wings, she fell again into the void. Somewhere in the shrieking blackness, on her way down, she lost consciousness.

* * *

When Seras awoke, she was lying on a warm, rocky ledge. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, though her body felt weighed-down and sluggish. Her vision took a moment to come into focus.

Dante was standing near her. They were in a vast cavern... so huge she couldn't see the roof. Red and yellow tinged membranes were filmed over the rock walls like fine cobwebs, and glistened with organic moisture and dripping slow trickles of blood. She put out a finger and collected a smudge of it, which she tasted. It was too strong, and made her head ache.

She looked back to Dante. He was looking away from her, into the chasm. His posture was relaxed. He was speaking.

"...think I'm gonna be scared by sloppy seconds? Your master didn't put up much of a fight..."

Seras turned to see who he was addressing. Beyond the ledge where she and the half-demon perched the cave extended down into a deep, black pit. In that limbo chunks of rock and pieces of debris from the town above hung and slowly orbited. It took Seras a moment to process the figure Dante spoke to.

Superficially male, with marble white skin – or was it simply marble? - and a face as beautiful and empty as the Sphynx. Long white hair, naked, and with a dazzling double set of wings unfurled from his back. He exuded a holy light. Seras flinched to see him. His expression was seraphic as he spoke in an eerie chorus, "We shall see. You've come this far, Son of Sparda. Now your blood will ease my birth into the world of mortals..." He lifted his arms to his sides and raised his head, tilting his face up toward an invisible light as though in worship.

Dante walked forward and stopped at the lip of the ledge. He too raised his arms, but in a complacent shrug. "Yeah yeah, what else is new? You're still small fry." He slid Rebellion from its sheath.

She didn't know where her master was. She tried to reach out for him with her mind, but all she got was chaos.

"I am Caelum, Mundus' lieutenant," the angel continued. His voice was like a holy choir. "Forced to take the reins of power following his demise. I will continue the work he began."

"Tch. How sweet."

She remained sitting, half hidden by shadows, on the ledge. She felt drained, both physically and mentally, even though the minor devils' blood still warmed her veins.

More words were exchanged between Dante and his adversary – fighting talk. Then the angel began to change. Blinding light shone from cracks in his hard, alabaster skin, and he arched and writhed in the air until he had shed it entirely. For a moment he was a being of white-golden light alone, so bright Seras' eyes burned as if she were looking at the sun. Then he expanded, screaming in an unearthly multitude of voices, and grew and grew. Seras shrank down against the rock. The angel was an angel no longer. The light dulled and was pulled back inside his body, leaving a wholly changed creature in its wake. A huge and hideously malformed mockery of the human form, the thing that now towered above she and Dante was a true monster. Its head hung on a decaying neck, yellow eyes rolling, cavernous mouth dripping ichor and slime, packed with serrated teeth. Its limbs twisted at strange angles, and there were too many of them; tendrils uncurled and waved from its hunched back.

She whispered a silent prayer to her master.

Dante laughed, sharp and slightly mad. He sprang from the ledge and transformed mid-jump, and Seras watched the arc of his wings, the flash of his sword, crackling with diabolic fire. She set her jaw, and her slippery hands found the grips of her guns. She pushed herself to her feet, uttered a barbaric war-cry and leapt.


End file.
